


This is the Remix

by cuttlemefish



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Age Difference, F/F, Fanboy Yuuri Katsuki, Las Vegas Wedding, M/M, Romance, Vicchan Lives, Viktor with a K, king of pop viktor nikiforov, mentions of yuuri's anxiety, no angst just two boys trying to stay together, pop stars AU, prince of pop yuuri katsuki, rich shenanigans, secret romance, seunggil is a little into yuuri and a kpop star, stress baker yuuri katsuki, yuuri only cares about viktor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2019-11-27 09:46:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18192959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuttlemefish/pseuds/cuttlemefish
Summary: Prince of Pop Yuuri Katsuki accidentally becomes neighbors with King of Pop Viktor Nikiforov after he moves into one of two luxury apartments on the penthouse floor of a coveted piece of real-estate overlooking a non-descript, large American city. It'd be his dream come true, if not for the fact that his Chief of Security Nishigori accidentally insulted Viktor, forcing Yuuri to make Viktor an apology pie and exposing him to a freshly-showered music god (who was then treated to Yuuri's anxiety oversharing his teenage fan fantasies). So, when Yuuri accidentally enters into a secret relationship with Viktor, how is he supposed to make it work when he's about to go on a world tour? Easy. Convince Viktor that, even though he's been engaged three times, the time has come for marriage -- Vegas style. Or, THIS IS THE REMIX to Lightning Strikes Every Time (He) Moves, without the angst, all the romance, less realistic industry depictions, and a lot of extra, fantasy rich shenanigans.





	1. Part I + Part II

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Lightning Strikes Every Time (He) Moves](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10922781) by [cuttlemefish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuttlemefish/pseuds/cuttlemefish). 



> I have no words, only apologies. You can yell at me at CuttleMeFishWrites.tumblr.com or on Twitter at @CMFWritings.
> 
> Comments keep me satisfied and happy and convince me that I shouldn't hide under blankets and instead should write updates. 
> 
> I'll be writing short little parts and just posting them often, maybe in order, maybe out of order, we will see. This was supposed to be only on Tumblr, and then I realized that will get old really fast because the search function doesn't really work. :D So, yeah, thanks for stopping by!

 

 

 

**THIS IS THE REMIX**

_Remix_

_to mix again_

_the variation or rearrangement of a song_

_an alteration from an original state_

 

**Part I**

_This is a box._  

Yuuri opens his apartment door and accidentally kicks a box left behind by the mailman.

Vicchan sniffs it carefully, little tail wagging before he trots around Yuuri’s legs and tries to drag him down the hallway for his walk. It’s only slightly odd because Yuuri is not expecting any mail, and usually Nishigori does a really good job of intercepting any potential packages from "overeager neighbors"—which Yuuri doesn’t technically have, beyond the one other apartment sharing the floor. But Nishigori has plans for all  the types of  _overeager_  people that might make an appearance in Yuuri’s life, including the mailman (who is named Bob and is really nice and knocks on the door because Yuuri likes to feel normal and invite him in for coffee to hear about the dogs in the neighborhood).  

He snaps a picture with his phone and sends it to Nishigori for inspection. His phone pings back:  _Do not open it._

“I had no intention of opening it, Nishigori,” Yuuri sighs into the phone a couple of seconds later as he carries Vicchan under one arm towards the lonely elevators in the center of the hall. “Leaving it for you to inspect right where I found it. I didn’t touch it. I only kicked it with my shoe and Vicchan sniffed it. I will  _not_  go back to change my shoes. You know how long it takes this elevator to come up here. By the time I come back out, it’ll take me another 10 minutes to get down—no, I don’t need you to talk to the building manager about how the elevator is too slow for me. I like it when the mailman tells me I have mail. It's nice. I promise, if I’m in danger, I’m not going to be using the elevator, Nishigori.”

When the elevator doors open, Nishigori hangs up the line, walking out of the elevator: “Elevator’s all clear, Yuuri!”

“Thanks, Nishigori,” Yuuri chuckles faintly, entering the elevator with his dog. His Chief of Security is careful at all times, which means Yuuri's plans to escape fame and fortune are dashed for the day. “Let me guess, Minako and Mari are downstairs already?”

“And waiting to walk twenty steps behind you, as promised.”

“I should’ve texted you once I was out of the building,” Yuuri sighs, resigned. He pulls the belt jacket tighter around his body by cinching it at the waist with one lazy hand. “If it’s any kind of food, throw it away, even if it’s safe. I swear, if I even gain an ounce before this tour, Celestino will have my head.”

“On it, Yuuri.”

“And—”

For as long as Yuuri has lived in the apartment building, which hasn’t been very long, he has never seen anyone else on his floor. When the building owner sold the apartment to Yuuri, he did it with such exceptional discretion regarding his neighbors that Yuuri had felt completely at ease with the transaction in the knowledge that TMZ wasn’t about to park outside the dog park and wait for him to scoop Vicchan’s poop.

“Who is that?” Nishigori scoffs, watching as a tall, almost lanky, albeit broad-shouldered man spends a little time locking his apartment door. A large, standard brown poodle with a diamond-encrusted pink collar waits patiently next to him. Despite Nishigori’s yells, Yuuri’s new neighbor seems unshakeable as he coos at his dog and proceeds to finally take stock of them when he approaches the elevators. It’s hard to see him at all, completely wrapped in luxury clothing brands, from the scarf around his head and mouth to the sunglasses on his face and the oversized coat. Nishigori seems implacable now: “Who the hell are you?”

“I apologize for him,” Yuuri says nervously, keeping the elevator door open. “Is he friendly?”

“It’s a she, and yes, she is a very good girl. Please don’t be inconvenienced,” he says, already turning away from Yuuri to look at the opposite elevator. “We’ll take the next elevator down.”

“Oh, but this one’s already here and these elevators take forever to make it up to the twentieth floor,” Yuuri tries to be polite. He’s a big fan of poodles, and anyone that owns a poodle that could be the exact replica of Makkachin Nikiforov. Yuuri wouldn’t have a poodle if it wasn’t for Makkachin. “Really. I don’t think the dogs would give us any trouble. My Vicchan is very friendly.”

“Your dog’s name is Vicchan? That’s adorable.”

Nishigori gapes at the entire interaction, and Yuuri has a feeling he should order a pie or buy one on the way back to apologize to his neighbor – and probably the entire building with the way he’s been holding up the elevator for approximately ten minutes now. He could make one, but the temptation to eat it would be too great. 

“So, you’re not even going to tell me who the hell you are?” Nishigori puffs out his chest, “Well, buddy, let me tell you that you’re out here speaking to music royalty! If you’re a new move-in, then we’re going to need to clear you for access!”

“Am I  _really_ speaking to music royalty?” the man replies lazily and pulls down his shades to give Nishigori an amused look. Yuuri barely catches a glimpse of a familiar shade of blue. “I’ve owned that apartment over there for almost a decade. If anyone should’ve bothered to provide identification for access, it should’ve been him, not me. Now, if you will stop harassing me, I just want to walk my dog in peace.”

“Here,” Yuuri steps out of the elevator. He’s feeling a little shaky. “You can have this one as an apology. I’m so sorry, Mister…?”

“Thank you,” his neighbor says, stepping around Yuuri. “It’s Nikiforov. It was very nice to meet you, neighbor.”

When the elevator doors close, Nishigori squeaks behind Yuuri.

“Yuuri, was that really Viktor Nikiforov?”

It's not entirely unlikely. There was a reason Yuuri had picked this neighborhood. Yuuri nods, looking equally embarrassed as he considers running back to his apartment to hurl over his toilet. He’s only seen Viktor Nikiforov a handful of times in the flesh, and never exchanged more than a few, very minute pleasantries. (The typical, "you're my inspiration," and "thank you.") As far as he’s concerned, this is the longest he’s ever ineracted with the man that has danced (to be polite) through Yuuri’s dreams nightly since he was a teenager. 

“Oh my god," Yuuri gasps, feeling like his lungs are on fire. "I think I’m going to have a panic attack. You literally just asked an actual, literal musical icon to provide his driver’s license to get clearance to be my neighbor. I’m going to throw up. Oh my god, Nishigori! He probably hates me! He probably thinks I’m some spoiled bratty new generation pop star without any respect for actual, literal living legends! Here, take Vicchan, I need a bathroom…”

Nishigori holds a squirming Vicchan in his hands: “How was I supposed to know it was him without the twenty people usually surrounding him? – Wait! You can’t go back into your apartment! I have to check this weird box first!”

 

**Part II**

_This is a pie._

The second time Yuuri meets Viktor Nikiforov, he’s holding a pie and Viktor is barefoot with only a pair of low-ride jeans hugging his hips while his short, platinum blond hair drips over his chiseled chest and defined abs. Yuuri hasn’t hallucinated about Viktor Nikiforov since he was a teenager discovering that he had a weakness for blue eyes and cupid-bowed lips and—he gulps hard. His fingers start to turn white as he rips the pie pan tightly. This was supposed to be a peace offering, but Yuuri was not ready to be slapped in the face with literal perfection.

‘Why did I think this was a good idea?’ he thinks to himself, wishing he’d at least worn his contacts or combed his hair. The little voice in his head agrees: ‘Combing your hair would’ve been a good idea.’ It usually  _is_ a good idea, but Yuuri isn't exactly thinking very clearly. 

Viktor looks over Yuuri’s head, scanning the empty hallway behind him.

“Wh—what are you doing?”

“Making sure your chief of security isn’t here to ask for my driver’s license before I can talk to you,” he smirks, leaning against the doorframe. Makkachin bops her head against his knee, almost making him trip forward. And, Yuuri realizes, not for the last time, that Viktor Nikiforov knows he’s a literal  _snack_ , and Yuuri kind of really wants to dig in, badly. It’s a bad metaphor, but Yuuri is also burning his hands at the moment.

Makkachin barks to get some attention, and Yuuri rewards her with a cooing smile. His hands ache. 

“Ah, Nishigori isn’t here. He already talked to Mr. Popovich? – I have permission to knock on your door. You also have permission to ignore me. But if you’re going to close the door on my face, can you at least take this pie pan? It’s a lot hotter than I imagined and I think I might be burning my hands.”

Viktor blinks, surprised as he takes the pie from Yuuri’s hands. His palms do look a little pink now. Yuuri watches him run over to his kitchen and hears both a curse and the clatter of something on the counter: “Did you run over here after taking it out of the oven?”

“Pretty much!” Yuuri winces, blowing over his hands. Makkachin sits in front of Yuuri, watching him with a lolling tongue. “Did you hurt yourself? I’m sorry!”

“Probably not as much as you did! Are you seriously still standing by the door? Come inside; Makkachin, be a good girl and show our guest where to put his shoes. No shoes in the apartment, please.”

“Are you sure? It seems I interrupted your shower?” Yuuri says, toeing out of his shoes as Makkachin licks his palms. He smiles to himself, noticing that Viktor Nikiforov has a little shoe rack holding some of his shoes, with extra spaces for guests. It’s not something Yuuri would’ve imagined, which solidifies for him that  _this_ is actually happening and very real. Makkachin follows him inside before running off to her spot in front of the television. “I just wanted to introduce myself properly. I’m Yuuri Katsuki.”

“I know who you are,” Viktor yells over his shoulder as he stretches to reach for a couple of plates on his upper cabinet. It’s an inconvenient place for plates, but Yuuri doesn’t want to say something impolite, especially not when his eyes are glued to the way Viktor’s pants hang a little lower and give Yuuri a peek of the perfect curve of his ass -- and the fact Viktor is obviously not wearing any underwear. “I’m old, not ancient.”

“Oh my god,” Yuuri groans into his palms, “I would’ve never tried to imply that at all!”

“I’m more surprised you know who I am. Got them!” Viktor cheers as he jumps down from the counter with a pair of plates. He blinks, surprised to find Yuuri hiding his face in his hands.

“What do you mean how do I know who you are? We've met a few times and each one I've told you that you're my inspiration. I named my dog after you,” Yuuri responds, half-muffled. When he notices Viktor has started transferring pieces of pie onto two very shiny plates, he balks, “Oh, no pie for me, thank you. I only brought it for you.”

“That’s flattering. I’ve always wanted a dog named after me. And he’s a poodle, too, right? That’s  _really_  flattering,” Viktor tells him, before looking down at the two pieces of pie. “I see. So, you’re actually here to sabotage me. How cruel, Yuuri. Bringing a man whose metabolism is on the decline a pie, and to even have the gall to guilt him into eating it, too.”

Yuuri can’t imagine  _anything_  about Viktor’s body is on the decline, not with the way his nipples stand erect now. ‘Stop looking at his chest, oh my god!’ the voice in his head screams. 

“You don’t have to eat it!” Yuuri squeaks, wondering if it’d be too weird to run out of the apartment now. 

“I’m just teasing you. I’m sorry. Would you like water, saltine crakers, a green smoothie? I have tons of green smoothies.”

Yuuri shakes his head, staring down at his socked toes, “I—I should go and leave you to do whatever you were doing. I’m sorry I interrupted your evening, Mr. Nikiforov.”

“One, my name is Viktor,” he winks. “Two, you’re sorry you saved me from starving to death? Seriously, this is great pie, Yuuri. Stop standing ceremony all the way over there and please come sit on the sofa and relax a little. I’ll bring you some water crackers and low-fat cheese. I know how grueling pre-tour diets can be.”

“I can’t relax,” Yuuri whispers, rubbing at his arm. “I have anxiety. And I once had a wet dream about you when I was sixteen. And for some reason my brain is doing this thing where I’m so panicked, I can’t stop talking. Please step on me and end my misery.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, then. I shouldn’t have teased you like that,” Viktor nods sagely. He scoops another spoonful of pie into his mouth. Maybe it’s pity or kindness, but Yuuri is grateful Viktor has taken to ignoring whatever has just come out of his mouth in exchange for being a good host. “This is great pie. Where did you buy it?”

“I, uh, I made it.”

Viktor swallows hard, almost choking: “Really? I thought you’d just popped it in the oven to warm up. You have a  _gift,_ Yuuri. I mean, obviously you have a gift for music as well, but pie baking might just be your next big thing, right up there with dancing.”

“I like to cook, but I gain weight easily,” Yuuri shrugs, “so I don’t do it often. It helps me de-stress, though. Thank you for eating it.”

“I would’ve never guessed you struggled with weight gain with the way you spin around a pole,” Viktor shrugs, walking to the living room. Yuuri freezes in place at his words: The fact that Viktor knows Yuuri can pole dance must mean he’s seen some of his most recent performances. It leaves him feeling a little giddy to know Viktor Nikiforov has watched him at all. The same Viktor Nikiforov (who is not wearing any underwear and is) staring pointedly at Yuuri now, who finally moves to follow him into the living room. “Of course, I haven’t been allowed pie in approximately five years, so I might not be the most reliable judge of baked goods, but I really think this is delicious. Thank you, again.”

“Don’t you have a chef that could make you a pie?” Yuuri asks, sitting on the edge of the sofa with his knees pressed tightly and his hands on his lap.

Viktor nods, “Mila is great, but she keeps me on a strict regimen courtesy of Yakov. That’s my manager.”

“I think everyone knows Yakov Feltsman.”

“No, not everyone knows who Yakov Fetlsman is nowadays,” Viktor corrects him gently. He gives Yuuri an almost feral smile, all white and bright teeth without a glint reaching his eyes. “But I suppose you would, being a fan of mine.”

“If it’s weird for you, I can go,” Yuuri offers. There’s something odd about the way Viktor talks to him, with a strange hint of familiarity that doesn’t quite fit with their reality. Before today and yesterday, they’ve only met a handful of times in passing during award shows and charity events. It’s never been more than a nod of acknowledgement or a handshake, maybe a few too many accolades from Yuuri.  

Viktor shakes his head, “Oh, it’s not weird at all. It’s very flattering. Not a lot of young pop stars have respect for the older generation.”

“I’m really not that young anymore,” Yuuri tells him, almost ashamed. It’s something that’s been weighing on Yuuri’s mind, whether he should retire now. “I’m twenty-seven. I’ve been doing this for a little over a decade now.”

“And I’ve been doing this for almost two decades,” Viktor points out, waving his spoon around. “Next to you, I’m a dinosaur.”

“It’s not a competition.”

Viktor blinks, eyes hungry as he tips his head and says, “Isn’t it, though?”

**TBC**


	2. Part III-VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can yell at me at CuttleMeFishWrites.tumblr.com or on Twitter at @CMFWritings.
> 
> Comments keep me satisfied and happy and convince me that I shouldn't hide under blankets and instead should write updates.

**Part III**

_This is a boy band._

Yuuri is lucky his best friends live just a floor below him. It’s an unspoken rule that when Yuuri is panicking, the alarm for brunch will ring, and Phichit and Otabek will answer with the grace of two men whose stomachs are being primed for a televised eating competition. Phichit licks his lips, humming as he pats his stomach and reaches for _another_ waffle: “Can I compliment the breakfast potatoes this morning? Adding onions was an inspired choice, Yuuri, and I applaud you.”

Otabek nods in agreement, chewing thoughtfully, “I’m a big fan of these low-sodium, low-fat, vegetarian sausages. I never thought I would say that, but I am a _big_ fan. This could be a gamechanger for me.”

Yuuri tries not to blush as he dispatches yet another bowl of cheesy eggs.

“Well, thanks for coming over to eat. I was really struggling last night,” Yuuri sighs. He pushes the pan away from the hot stove and then takes the fresh batch of eggs over to the table, along with his special morning smoothie.

“So,” Phichit dabs at his lips politely before giving him a wink, “did you ride it or what?”

Otabek doesn’t even bat a eyelash as he reaches for another sausage.

“No. I considered it, but no,” Yuuri pouts, “Years of wanting and panting after that man’s ass! And just when I’m finally presented with his abs, I didn’t even think of offering to lick them.” – It’s truly an embarrassment. Yuuri has been practicing in his head for years what he would say to seduce Viktor Nikiforov if given the chance and, instead, he baked him a pie, watched him eat it, and proceeded to pretend he wasn’t fully aware the man wasn’t even wearing underwear. “Not like he didn’t give me so many opportunities either.”

Phichit nods, counting with his fingers, “He opened the door just after a shower, shirtless. He wasn’t wearing any underwear and gave you a little peek. He ate your pie.”

“We’re still talking about the baked pie, right?” Otabek asks, scooping eggs onto his plate.

“Yuuri, confirm?”

“Just the baked pie,” Yuuri nods. “And then, just when I was leaving, he placed his hand on my lower back to steer me towards the door, and he leaned forward just a bit when he said goodnight. He smelled like lavender and diamonds. I don’t know what diamonds smell like, but he smelled expensive.”

“I do like the smell of an expensive man,” Phichit agrees sagely, drinking his mimosa. “Go on.”

“I would think diamonds smell like sweat and misery,” Otabek tells them with a glare. “Come on, we were all part of that one campaign years ago.”

“I should’ve kissed him.”

“You should’ve pushed him down on the sofa when he was eating pie and peeled his pants off and done him,” Phichit agrees, reaching for his mimosa again.

Otabek almost chokes, “Or asked him first?”

“Asking is implied,” Phichit scoffs. “Who do you think I am? Consent first. Always.”

Yuuri sighs wistfully, sipping on his smoothie: “Well, opportunity dashed. I have no reason to ever go over there again.”

“You’re neighbors. There are always reasons to knock on his door: I made too much food, please eat some and then eat me! Can I have a cup of sugar? You can pour it on my chest! Playdate for the poodles! Oh my god, how cute would that be, Yuuri?”

“Can you zip up my bodysuit because I live alone and have no one to help me, even though my former bandmates live a floor below?” Otabek offers.

Phchit gapes, “Brilliant. Yes, do _that_!”

Yuuri laughs, “I can’t do any of that! I could barely handle talking to him for three minutes before I started oversharing embarrassing things about how much I’m into him.”

Vicchan jumps off the sofa and runs over to the door. His sniffs are met with a loud bark, and he responds in kind. His small body bounces with the strength of his yips. Yuuri almost chokes as he looks at the door and hears, “Makkachin, no.” – Yuuri might legitimately die if Viktor Nikiforov has been eavesdropping on the other side of his door and hearing his seduction plans.

He practically trips his way to the door and opens it with a flourish to find Viktor wearing the most ridiculous disguise. It’s made all the sillier by the fact it looks like Viktor Nikiforov with a mustache glued on his face.

“Is someone stealing Makkachin or are you going to an audition about celebrities playing themselves not being themselves?” Yuuri grins, leaning against the doorframe smoothly. Vicchan yips from Phichit’s arms.

Viktor ducks his head in embarrassment before he turns to face Yuuri, “I would have made my escape with Makka, if not for how long this elevator takes to go anywhere.”

“And where are you going, VikNik?” Georgi Popovich says, stepping out of the elevator with perfect timing. Mr. Popovich is Viktor's Chief of Security, the equivalent to Nishigori in Viktor's camp. Yuuri gets what's happening immediately. Viktor looks devastated. Yuuri knows that look. It’s the look of a man that hungers for freedom and has, instead, been handed a heavy reminder of his prison sentence. Yuuri feels that look down to his very core. He gives it to Nishigori daily.

“To, uh, brunch,” Phichit chimes in, head popping from over Yuuri’s shoulder. “Right? Yuuri invited Viktor to lunch with Makkachin.”

“But I forgot to send the invite list so…” Yuuri shrugs.

“I was being extra careful with this mustache,” Viktor nods rapidly. Makkachin woofs in agreement.

“Exactly,” Yuuri nods. “You should get inside before the cheesy eggs get cold, VikNik.”

Georgi arches an eyebrow, “Since when do you eat cheese and eggs together?”

“Since Yuuri’s nutritionist sent us all this one article on the importance of protein and dairy,” Otabek chimes in, jumping to lift a bowl of eggs.

“Well,” Georgi sighs, handing Viktor a stack of letters, “whatever you were doing, I imagine you’re _not_ anymore now that you’re brunching with 3XO. Enjoy your Sunday, VikNik. And _don’t_ try to escape security. I’d like to finally take Anya out to a real lunch… and it took me a week to write her a poem.”

“You finally asked Anya out? And wrote a poem without me looking over it?” Viktor blinks, surprised. “I guess I’ll just go eat eggs with 3XO, then, since the world doesn’t need me. Bye Georgi! Have fun!”  

Georgi watches Viktor the entire time as he shuffles over to Yuuri’s apartment with Makkachin in tow. Yuuri closes the door immediately, and Viktor proceeds to look out of the peephole. Vicchan is already in the ground, making rounds by his calves and trying to get Makkachin’s attention.

“I’m sorry for interrupting your brunch,” Viktor apologizes, resting his back against the door. “You really saved me back there. All of you. Thank you. I think Yakov is a minute from demanding a bodyguard sleep in my apartment to keep me from running away again. The Mayor told him that if I cause one more mob incident anywhere in her city, she will personally escort me out of the state limits. I’ll have to buy property in New Jersey.”

“That sounds harsh,” Otabek hums. “But I hear New Jersey has good pastries. You want a plate while you wait? The cheesy eggs really are getting cold.”

“Let me heat them up. Why were you trying to run away?” Yuuri asks, ripping the mustache from Viktor’s face with a clean sweep. He’s been told that he’s particularly savage when hungry, which is all the time when he’s on a diet. Considering that this one has been on-going for almost a week now, things can only go downhill from here.

“Ow,” Viktor hands fly to his mouth. His lip line is red. “Warn me next time?”

“Don’t wear bugs on your face and I won’t have to warn you,” Yuuri chuckles. “Come sit and eat. And let Makka off her leash. I’m sure Vicchan will be a good doggie host and show her to the toy bin, won’t you, Vicchan?”

“He’ll be gone in a couple of minutes and—”

“—and if you leave now, I’m responsible for you,” Yuuri interrupts him, already looping an arm around Viktor’s own to steer him towards the arm chair in his living room. Viktor lets Yuuri push him down with ease. “Read your mail. Eat. We were just chatting.”

“About Yuuri’s love life,” Phichit nods, grinning.

Viktor tilts his head, a quirk to his lips as he says, “Isn’t that weird for you two since you dated?”

Phichit gasps, “the shade! And no, we did not date, but Yuuri would actually really like to date y—”

Yuuri drops onto Viktor’s lap in an unceremonious heap, practically pushing Viktor’s face to look at him. He laughs nervously: “Let’s not talk about me. Let’s talk about you.”

“Like, your love life,” Phichit nods. “Are you seeing anybody?”

“Well, that’ll be a short conversation: Ancient music legend, three times engaged, three times dumped, with one dog daughter and zero prospects of ever having a semi-functional loving relationship,” Viktor laughs, hands lying comfortable on either arm of Yuuri’s most comfortable chair. Yuuri squirms uncomfortably, unsure if he should slide off Viktor’s lap onto his misery on the ground: _Zero prospects_. Viktor looks around Yuuri’s chest to stare straight at Phichit. “No, I am not seeing anybody.”

“Do you want to be?” Otabek deadpans, shoving more eggs into his mouth.

“Are you asking for you or inquiring for someone else?” Viktor quirks an eyebrow.

Yuuri finally slides off Viktor’s legs and drops to the floor to make Viktor a plate of food.

“That was depressing,” he says, pouting.

“What were you expecting?”

“Tea,” Phichit shrugs. “I wanted tea on Engagement #1.”

“Intrigue,” Otabek adds.

Yuuri sighs, completely despondent as he hands Viktor a plate of food and a fork, “Sex. _Oh my god._ That did not really just come out of my mouth. I am so sorry!”

“And that’s our cue to leave!” Phichit claps his hands together, jumping over Yuuri’s lap to tiptoe his way to the other side of the room. He picks up Vicchan as he goes, lifting him high in the air. “Taking my nephew. And the big puppy, too. Come on big puppy. What a good girl. You can grab her from Apartment 19C.”

Otabek eyes the food longingly one more time before he drags himself to the door.

Yuuri groans, hiding his face in his palms when he hears the door slam. He sits on the sofa next to the armchair. His entire body shakes with embarrassment. Leave it to Yuuri to turn off his inner filter. Another side-effect of his diet. _Screw it_ , he thinks, reaching for the entire bowl of eggs to start digging in.

“Did they really just take my dog?” Viktor leans forward, pointing at the door. He seems slightly confused as he stares at the plate in his hand and then at Yuuri, who is dumping a mountain of ketchup on the eggs. “Did you just really proposition me for sex? I feel like this whole last half hour didn’t happen.”

“Two days ago, I also told you I had a wet dream about you when I was a teenager,” Yuuri sighs, dumping breakfast potatoes onto his bowl. He stuffs a large spoon into his mouth and proceeds to chew. Loudly. He has no shame left anyway. “Apparently, my brain decides to shutdown when faced with your perfect, angular face. Or maybe I’m just distracted by your big forehead.”

“You think my forehead is big?” Viktor pouts, palm pressed over his forehead.

Yuuri whines, “No. I think your forehead is perfect. This just me. On a diet. And anxiety. Which is amplified by the fact I am living off liquids. I’m really sorry. I keep accidentally sexually harassing you and it is an absolute miracle you haven’t threatened to sue me—especially after my friends just kidnapped you dog.”

“Kidnapped? I thought she’ll be in Apartment 19C! Do I need to call Georgi to activate Operation Makka? I swear we go through this once a year, but it’s always been attempts, never an actually dognapping. Figures it’d happened when I let down my guard and decide to start eating eggs again.”

Yuuri can feel himself already starting to tear up. He sniffles.

“Oh my god, Yuuri, I’m kidding; I don’t know how you expect us to have sex if you can’t even handle me teasing you a little bit,” Viktor points out. He sighs, setting the plate on the coffee table before he kneels on the ground before Yuuri. He takes his hands gently, rubbing small, soothing circles with his thumbs over the mounds of Yuuri’s wrists. “Hey, you have nothing to be embarrassed about, okay? I’ve heard worst. And I’m also really flattered. I don’t know if you’re aware, but you’re incredibly beautiful.”

“How can you say that when I’m a mess?” Yuuri cries, vision blurry behind tears and glasses. “I’m not beautiful right now!”   

“You weren’t such a mess when you first opened the door,” Viktor offers, reaching up to brush Yuuri’s hair back. He then takes the bowl from his lap. “Surely you’re not always a mess. You can be pretty smooth when you want to be. And, I still think you’re pretty attractive, even with snot coming out of your nose—actually, here, just blow.”

Yuuri blows his nose on the napkin around his nose. He sniffs, unable to even look at Viktor.

“That’s because Phichit was standing right behind me with Vicchan. It was like having double the emotional support,” Yuuri hiccups. Viktor hands him a glass of water. “Thank you.”

“I’m going to get you a smaller bowl, and you’re going to eat something, okay?” Viktor sighs, walking over to Yuuri’s kitchen. He shuffles around for a bit, opening and closing cabinets. Yuuri can barely make him out when he say, “And, after, if you’re still up for it, we can have sex.”

Yuuri almost chokes on his own tongue.

“Wait, what?”

Viktor brings back a small bowl.

“I said, if after you eat and feel more lucid, you still want to have sex, I’d be willing, but you have to eat something solid first, okay?” –which is precisely how Yuuri ends up breaking his diet, and then sweating up all the calories anyway.

**Part IV**

_This is a booty call._

The thing about sex with Viktor Nikiforov is that it is nothing and everything like what Yuuri expected. As he lies stretched out on his stomach over his brand new velvet sofa, he thinks for the first time that he should’ve put a blanket over it before laying down sweaty and sated. But it’s a little hard to keep that in mind as his eyes study the delicious form and dip of Viktor’s back muscles as he walks around Yuuri’s living room, still completely naked and fishing for his clothes.

“How are your thighs feeling?” Viktor asks him when he notices that Yuuri is awake again.

“Like I did a thousand squats,” Yuuri groans. “I’m sorry I bit your butt; I can see the bite mark from here.”

“Yes, so can I. You have a very proportional bite. I’m sorry I slammed you against the wall and then almost dropped you after we climaxed?” Viktor offers, wincing as he recalls the event. Yuuri has a different memory of that moment that doesn’t require any kind of apology and, instead, deserves praise. Viktor’s show of upper-body strength had failed against Yuuri’s thirst the moment they both failed to reach his bedroom and managed to find a relatively empty hallway wall.

“I’m sorry I kept you pinned to the floor afterwards. I seriously couldn’t feel my legs. Actually, thank you for that. That was probably the most explosive orgasm of my life. I didn’t think it’d ever stop.”

“You’re just flattering me now,” Viktor winks, chuckling. Yuuri watches almost disappointed as Viktor pulls on his underwear, and wonders if he can muster the energy to crawl on his knees and start mouthing at Viktor’s inner thighs to convince him to stay, again. “I was going to say you’re just trying to kiss up now, but—”

“Too soon?” Yuuri laughs, reaching for a pillow to hide his red face, “Seeing as I bit your ass cheek. I’m so sorry.”

“We should probably stop apologizing now,” Viktor tells him, soft and pliant, with his hair just a little flat from sweat as he slips on his pants. Yuuri beams with pride, knowing he can now check off _wreck Viktor Nikiforov_ from his bucket list.  

Yuuri rolls onto his side, licking his lips, “Anything I can do to convince you to stop getting dressed?”

“No.”

Yuuri’s heart slams against his ribcage: “Oh.”

He doesn’t mean to sound disappointed.

“I have a call with Yakov in approximately another hour, and I would usually not care if I nap through it, but I also need to pick up Makkachin, feed her, and try to play with her to burn her excess energy. And,” he adds, reaching for his shirt, “how am I going to make you dinner if I stay here?”

“I could cook you dinner,” Yuuri offers, coy smile on his lips. “I’ll even do it naked if it’s any incentive.”

“It is a strong incentive, but I have to be a responsible dog parent. Also, you cooked me brunch, so I’d like to cook you dinner. Actually, I would much prefer to take you out to dinner, but seeing as that would require at least a day worth of planning between both our chief security officers, it might be easier if I make us a salad.”

“I love salads,” Yuuri lies. He despises salads. He’ll make a pie. “What time should I meet you?”

Viktor steals Yuuri’s lips in a quick kiss before he grabs his tie from the corner of the sofa.

“You are an exceptionally pretty liar, Mr. Katsuki. And, please come promptly at 7 pm, with a toothbrush.”

“A toothbrush?” Yuuri blinks. “Should I bring pajamas, too?”

“If you’d like, but you won’t need them,” Viktor says, draping his suit jacket over his arm before taking his leave.

**Part V**

_This is a nightmare._

Yuuri spends a portion of the year in Detroit in a large Tudor styled house tucked neatly in beautiful University District neighborhood, just a block from the house he bought his parents and sister Mari. Yuuri would’ve bought Mari a house, too, if she had not chosen a long time ago to live in New York, which is how Yuuri had ended up buying a penthouse apartment for himself in the same building as his former bandmates lived and where he had previously bought his sister a lovely three-bedroom apartment. Yuuri’s home in Detroit is comfortable, with old architecture and a residential neighborhood—and fully renovated to give him all the comforts a young pop star with a dog might want, from a recording studio in a makeshift basement to an expansive yard for Vicchan.

For the most part, no one bothered Yuuri there.

That was not the case in New York.  

Hence, Nishigori spends a lot of time in the building lobby vetting anyone that might seem even slightly suspicious. Technically, there is a space in the building for all of them. He could share with the Nikiforov team. But Nishigori is better than Popovich, no matter how much longer he might have been looking after a literal _planet_ in the constellation of music. Nishigori wasn’t sure _star_ quite fit Viktor Nikiforov.

Delivery comes exactly at 11 am.

Nishigori is playing an intense game of poker with Minako in the building lobby then, but he can see from the corner of his eye that the concierge is pointing over to them: “Is Yuuri expecting a delivery today?” he asks Minako. As Yuuri’s chief of staff, logistics often fall to her, right down to a minutiae of mail delivery.

“No,” she responds easily. “Maybe it’s for the Nikiforov team. Lazy asses, probably eating tiny sandwiches in the business lounge. Just ignore them.”

“Excuse me,” a breathless young delivery man says, pointing at his clipboard. “I have a delivery for Penthouse B, Floor 20? I was told I should talk to all of you since the concierge can’t just let me up there.”

Nishigori arches an eyebrow at Minako, who shrugs, uncertain: “He didn’t tell me he ordered anything or asked me to get him anything. I’ll call him. What are you delivering?”

“I have a truck full of roses to deliver, ma’am. Sixty dozen to be exact.”

“Sixty roses?” she asks, cellphone balancing on her shoulder as she starts to search her purse for a delivery tip. The delivery man declines, showing her that a substantial and very generous tip has already been tacked onto the bill. Studying it carefully, the bill seems like a rip-off for a few roses. She stuffs her twenty back into her purse. “He should’ve told me if he wanted something for his vase. That’s too much. Please standby. I don’t know that we will be able to keep that many.”

“No, ma’am. Sixty _dozen_ , like, that’s 720 roses altogether,” the young man repeats. “If I’m taking them back, you’ll have to talk to the owner directly about a refund. I’m not permitted to discuss that kind of stuff with the customers.”

Nishigori feels slightly faint. Checking that many flowers will take forever. And how is he going to check them for potential dangerous chemicals, anyway? He sends a quick text message to the rest of his security staff and starts ushering the young man back outside.

“Take me to the truck. We’ll have to inspect these before delivery, and I’m going to need to see your identification card and the bill to understand who sent these—”

The young man looks flustered now.

“It’s an anonymous sender, though.”

“So, you don’t even know who sent these?” Nishigori growls.

“Sir, I just deliver these for minimum wage!” he squeaks in respond. “If I got involved in the story of every single delivery, I’d never actually work!”

“Must be a mistake, Nishigori, but go look and confirm while I ask him. He won’t pick up,” she sighs, pulling from her purse a red folder. “Make sure he signs an NDA while you’re out there. You’d think he’d stop ordering stuff on his phone after that one time he ordered Vicchan a year supply of biscuits. Hello, Yuuri? Finally! Did you order some flowers last night? No? Well, I have someone here saying they have sixty dozen roses for you. Yes, sixty dozen, that’s some 700-something flowers. Yuuri, hold a minute—can I help you, Mr. Popovich?”

Georgi Popovich is a formal man, always dressed like a mortician between his thick black eyeliner and his midnight dark suits and thin little black tie. Anya, the assistant and scheduler of the Nikiforov team, stands a few feet behind him. She seems to be having a conversation with someone on the phone, probably their boss.  

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but I was just informed by VikNik that he might have ordered Mr. Katsuki a small gift as a token of thanks for, uh,” he checks a small pad of paper in his hand, “brunch? He was hoping it would be kept as a surprise, if at all possible.”

“Yuuri, I’ll call you right back,” Minako hangs up, standing. “Are you telling me _now_ that Viktor Nikiforov bought Yuuri sixty dozen roses? Because they’re here. Unless there’s another present we’re expecting, aside from the 720 roses sent by some anonymous source that felt the need to pay five times the market price.”

“I just heard or else I would be giving you more leeway,” Popovich winces. “I’m sorry.”

Anya yells over, hand over the receiver, “It seems he forgot. I’m on the line with our supplier now.”

“How do you forget you ordered that many roses? I have my Chief of Security out inside a delivery truck smelling roses and hoping he doesn’t die, Mr. Popovich.”

“Weak Americans,” Anya rolls her eyes, flipping her thick, long hair over her shoulder. Her Russian accent is thick. Minako tries to school her face into something akin to professional. Her expensive, red-bottom heels click over the marble floor. “I’m going out there to inspect the shipment and confirm delivery. VikNik wants pictures. We’ll take it from here, Ms. Okukawa. Georgi, can you start sending people down to help haul these up?”

“Excuse you, but you will not deliver anything until we have personally inspected every single rose in that shipment,” Minako scoffs. When she turns to push a finger against Georgi’s chest, he winces again. It’s hard to imagine this man is trained to take out at least ten people singlehandedly. “Mr. Popovich, I would appreciate it if when you next saw Lilia that you let her know I don’t much appreciate Mr. Nikiforov imposing himself this way on my client’s staff. I’m sure he pays you all a hefty sum to do his bidding, but his payroll really does start and end with all of you.”

 “I will ask her to speak to you directly, but it’s VikNik, Miss Okukawa. We don’t question the madness, just accept the genius,” Georgi shrugs, already turning away. “Can I at least help with the inspection process, as a peace offering? I’m sure VikNik is eager to have these delivered.”

Minako narrows her eyes, “No, Mr. Popovich. And you can tell VikNik that I told you to tell him that he doesn’t get to dictate the speed or time at which Yuuri’s team does anything. Not to mention we have a big enough team to take care of the job.”

**Part VI**

_This is a flower delivery._

When Yuuri opens the door, he finds that there are roses everywhere. The smell is overwhelming, lying somewhere between water dew and a hint of scented perfume. It’s not like Yuuri has never received flowers before, or even roses, but he’s never seen so many all at once. Vicchan sits by his feet, sniffing the air.  

 “Oh my god, you’re Yuuri Katsuki,” the delivery man says, before he looks over at Nishigori and shoves his clipboard towards Yuuri. “Uh, sign here please.”

Yuuri gives him a small smile and takes the clipboard from his hand, scribbling out an unreadable version of his name. He is then handed a vase with two dozen roses bound together in a beautiful arrangement.

“They’re beautiful,” he says, breathless. “Who sent them?”

“Where would you like the other 29 vases?” the delivery man asks, completely ignoring his question and pointing at the group of people behind him. Yuuri recognizes Mr. Popovich immediately, and his heart hammers hard in his chest. He doesn’t need to hear a name to know exactly who sent all of these. It makes him want to swoon—just take the vase and twirl with it back into his apartment.

He can barely keep the smile from lighting up his face.

“You can put them anywhere, I guess,” he licks his lips, letting them walk into the apartment. Nishigori glares at everyone, going inside first. Yuuri chuckles patiently, watching as vase after vase is brought inside.

A brunette with very red lips comes over to him.

“Mr. Katsuki? I’m Anya. This is for you,” she says, handing him a small envelope.

“It has the Nikiforov seal,” he gasps.

She purses her lips, looking marginally annoyed.

“Well, thank you for your discretion, Mr. Katsuki,” she tells him and marches into his apartment. Vicchan barks after her.

His cheeks redden when he rips it open to read the small note inside. _Thanks for a wonderful afternoon_ , he reads. _I hope these roses bring you as much pleasure as you brought me. One dozen for every minute of the one hour I’ll never forget._ They’d definitely enjoyed more than an hour, but Yuuri can feel the romanticism dripping from the note and hugs it tight to his chest.   

“For your discretion,” Anya tells the delivery man as he takes his leave, handing him a hundred dollar bill. When he pockets the money, she proceeds to type wildly into her phone. “Finish up here and report back downstairs to the rest of you.”

 _One dozen for every minute_ , Yuuri reads again.

“Sixty dozen,” Nishigori repeats. Yuuri jumps, hiding the note behind his back. “That was some brunch you cooked up for him to do all of this...”

“You got freaked out when you saw that many, huh?” Yuuri asks. Changing the subject feels safer.

“I thought it was some type of biological attack. Instead, it was just Viktor Nikiforov.”

“Well, thank you,” Yuuri pats his shoulder, walking him towards the door.

“Thank Minako, too. She’s the one that went toe-to-toe with Russian Barbie. She’s scary.”

“She scared me, too,” Yuuri chuckles. “I’ll make sure to get Minako a little something nice.”

“Just stop ordering stuff on your phone and she might call it even. Well, enjoy your roses, Yuuri.”

**TBC**


	3. Parts VII-X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me at CuttleMeFishWrites.tumblr.com and on Twitter @CMFWritings.
> 
> If you like it, leave a comment and/or share with a friend. :D

**VII**

_This is a gossip session_

“You look happy,” Chris wiggles his eyebrows and hands Viktor a glass of white wine as he slides back into his seat.

It’s Sunday, and Sundays are for gossiping with his favorite “publicity” enemy and secret best friend. Viktor has known Christophe for years now, many of which they have spent constantly battling it out on the pop charts. If Viktor shares legendary status with anyone, it’s Chris—and yet, Viktor is still the one that can’t walk his dog without having to worry about a potential mob. Chris is a good friend, though, and Viktor is always happy to have some company, even more so when said company is actually in his living room and not talking to him through a screen during another shopping spree in Italy.

An Armani bag lies lonely by the foot of the sofa. Chris has always been magnanimous with his gifts. Lucky for Viktor, Chris has excellent taste.

Chris grins as he leans forward, “What have you been doing? Or, better yet, _who_?”

Viktor rolls his eyes, unable to keep the comfortable, sated smile on his lips as he relaxes against his armchair. It’s been a good weekend as far as he’s concerned, between brunch and dinner and a lot of sex with young and sexy and incredibly insatiable Yuuri. Happiness is hard to hide, even if it’s due to an infatuation. Surely, Viktor will get over it now (finally!), and if he doesn’t, then at least they share a floor and a kink for handcuffs and play biting.  

“What makes you think it’s somebody?” he asks, “It could just be me getting more sleep or starting a new nutritional regiment.”

“Are you?” Chris arches an eyebrow, waiting for confirmation.

“I’ve definitely been eating better.”

“I’m sure,” Chris purrs. “What’s his name?”

Viktor sips carefully: “Well, if you really want to know, I’m going to need reassurance of your full and absolute discretion. We haven’t actually discussed being associated together, much less seen with each other, so you understand I have to protect his identity—”

“Are you dating another regular Joe?” Chris groans, moving quickly from gossip into a reprimand, “Viktor, you remember how _that_ turned out last time. Not that Engagement #3 wasn’t absolutely precious, but regular people cannot handle spaceship-sized spotlights, no matter how good the dick or how big the bank account.”

Viktor can feel a throbbing in his forehead start to develop.

“It’s Yuuri Katsuki.”

“ _Oh mon dieu,_ ” Chris coughs, choking on his wine. “That is definitely so far removed from average, I don’t know whether to congratulate you or side-eye you. My Yuuri? My sweet, darling, big doe-eyed angel with the thick thighs? I can’t believe you slept with Yuuri! I want to say I told you so, but I’m not that kind of man…”

“What,” Viktor laughs, “like it’s hard?”

Chris responds by aggressively throwing a pillow at his face.

“Bitch, how dare! It _is_ hard, nay impossible. And I will ask you to put some respect on that boy’s name. I would accept slut charges of any and all my other friends, except Yuuri. That boy is so innocent, he must be protected at all costs, especially because he’s so shy, Viktor. So shy. He suffers from major anxiety—”

“So I’ve witnessed firsthand.”

“He has this adorable little poodle. It’s his emotional support animal.”

“Well, good to know,” Viktor pushes the pillow off his lap. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You cannot leave me hanging after dropping that kind of tea! At least give me crumbs to go with my tea. Details. Oh my god! Seunggil Lee is going to die!”

“Who?” Viktor blinks.

“Some cute little K-Pop star that’s in love with Yuuri. Anyway, how did it happened? What did you do? What did he do?”

“Yesterday. Brunch. On his sofa. He rode it like an expert cowboy,” Viktor shrugs, trying to look dismissive. “So, you can understand my skepticism about his innocence.”

“You topped him?”

“He asked,” Viktor says. “Repeatedly. Many times. So I complied, many times.”

“Well, that’s a surprise. I thought the only thing you’d ever topped was the charts.”

“I know,” Viktor nods, looking slightly bewildered. It’s a feeling that hasn’t left him all weekend. If Viktor was a more honest person when it came to putting his emotions on public display, he would look how he actually feels—giddy. But three engagements have taught him to temper his emotions and school his expressions, even in front of his friends. “I surprised myself! But then I invited him to my place for dinner last night and things went back to normal. Although, I think I’ve decided I don’t mind switching it up for the right person.”

“And? You sent him home last night? He wasn’t here when I arrived. Oh my god, Viktor!”

“He chose to go home. He has a dog, you know that. Besides, I sent him some flowers this morning in thanks.”

“I knew it!” Chris claps his hands, looking giddy as he repositions himself on the sofa.

“Know what?”

“You might be acting all haughty and mighty and disinterested, but you’ve been totally gone over that boy since last year, and I knew it was just a matter of time before fate brought you two together!”

“What are you on? Fate hasn’t done anything. Serious anxiety meeting stringent celibacy is what caused yesterday. And it probably won’t happen again. He’s young and attractive, and I’m running headfirst into 40 in a couple more years.”

Chris gives Viktor a deadpan look, serious as he says, “You can trick anyone else except me. I _know_ you. And I knew last year when that poor drunk boy came over to your table and started spinning on that pole that you were _gone_. I’m still shocked pictures of that night didn’t make it out anywhere: Yuuri Katsuki Gives Viktor Nikiforov Birthday Lap Dance in Vegas.”

“Don’t even joke about that. Someone could hear you! I spent close to a million buying those pictures from TMZ,” Viktor sighs.

“I knew it!”

“Fine, so I like him. And I have been sexually frustrated for almost a year, ever since his manager picked him up and took him away from my lap. And I actually paid a full million to protect his chastity and reputation, and I keep the pictures and that ugly blue tie in my nightstand. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Actually no,” Chris crosses his legs. “That’s just sad. But I’m glad you’re admitting you have emotions again. That’s progress, VikNik. Did he say anything to you about it?”

“No.”

Chris frowns, “That’s weird. Maybe he’s too embarrassed. I should talk to him.”

“Please don’t. If he hasn’t mentioned it, maybe it’s for the best. And definitely don’t tell him all that just came out of my mouth. I sound desperate—”

“—deranged…”

“Wow, thanks!” Viktor scoffs, reaching for the pillow on the ground to throw it right back. “I don’t sound deranged.”

“It’s okay, though. I’m pretty sure he’s equally obsessed with you, probably for longer. Like I said, fate.”

“Fate doesn’t exist, Chris.”

Chris shrugs, winking, “If it doesn’t, it’s sure having a ball playing dollhouse with you two. You’ve seen that meme right? And now, kiss. Although I guess in your case it’s more like, _and now fuck_. Ouch, stop throwing stuff at me!”

 

**VIII**

_This is a card reading_

“Marriage,” Yuuko, Queen of the Stars to the Stars and one of Yuuri’s best friends, pulls out another card. She’s sitting cross-legged on the floor right in front of Yuuri, the two of them only separated by a spread of tarot cards. She holds up a card for Yuuri to inspect. “It’s all in here, Yuuri. You’ll be married before the year is out.”

“Are you sure?” he sighs, shifting again, “Can you ask the cards if this is a marriage to Viktor or someone else?”

“Have we not been asking about Viktor?” Yuuko stops, blinking rapidly. It’s a shocking question, considering for the last decade Yuuri has only ever wanted to ask about Viktor Nikiforov. “I thought we always asked the cards about Viktor. Are we not into Viktor anymore?”

“I just want to make sure. The cards have been saying we share a connection for years and yet...”

“You’re doubting me?” Yuuko gasps. Her bottom lip trembles. “Because I told you last reading that it could happen in three months or three years and neither time has yet to elapse, Yuuri—”

“No! I’m just feeling a little vulnerable right now and would like some indication that things are finally heading in the right direction,” Yuuri hugs a pillow tight to his chest. It’s been a very emotional weekend between finally getting a taste (quite literally) of Viktor and then feeling like the intense attraction he feels for Viktor might be reciprocated. The roses all over the apartment are a nice reminder, but Yuuri wants more.

His heart has been on the line for too many years.

Vicchan snores softly, pressing against Yuuri’s back.

Yuuko starts to shuffle the cards again.

“The cards are saying a marriage to Viktor,” she repeats, mumbling.

“But how do we know?”

“I’m shuffling, Yuuri. We will know soon. Did you finish your new vision board?”

He nods, looking almost proud, “Just in time for the new moon ritual.”

“And you changed it so Viktor’s pictures are _only_ in the romance section, right? Not the business section?”

“Yes. And I think that’s what finally did the trick.  Finished it on Wednesday.”

“Good, good!” Yuuko beams. “Okay, choose your cards and ask your question out loud!”

“Will I marry Viktor?”

Yuuko sets out a few cards, tapping her chin as she looks over them with care.

“Marriage to Viktor,” she confirms. And Yuuri breathes out, relieved. “But wait! This is amazing! There is a competitor showing up here! I can’t tell if it’s for your affections or for Viktor’s. Quick, Yuuri, hand me another deck.”

Yuuri picks a stack at random, pushing it forward quickly. His heart is hammering hard in his chest. _A competitor?_ That’s not possible. Yuuri will accept nothing less than to be Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov by year’s end. He’s not above dealing with a ho. _Why are you thinking like this?_ Yuuri is not the aggressive type. Sometimes, he can be slightly jealous and possessive, but that’s more the result of overthinking and less any desire to actually hurt anyone.

However, he’s also been working on getting Viktor’s attention for years by grooming himself to become his professional equal, or at least an asset that could add recognition to Viktor's name, not detract from his legend. As far as Yuuri is concerned (and the many awards divided among his four properties), he has succeeded in growing into himself as an artist and becoming famous enough that people now compare him to Viktor Nikiforov—or even talk about him rivaling Viktor’s fame with the younger generation. He's essentially an upgrade for Viktor.

Now that Yuuri has moved onto the romantic portion of his Viktor-plan, he’s not above putting in additional hard work.

“Interesting, very interesting!” Yuuko clasps her hands together. Yuuri looks down at the cards, wishing he could decipher them better. When Yuuko runs off to the kitchen, he reaches for Vicchan to hug him tight. “I need more incense for this…”  

 

**IX**

_This is a text message_

**Seunggie**

Hey Yuuri. My flight just landed. Are you still available for dinner tonight?

**Yuuri**

Hi Seunggie, welcome back to New York. Sure. How about I cook something for us at my place so you can also catch up with Otabek and Phichit? You can bring Bong-Cha with you! Vicchan would love a playmate.

**Seunggie**

Okay. See you later then.

 

**Vitya <3**

Yuuri, please wear something you’d like to be seduced in tonight and await further instructions for 7:30pm.

**X**

_This is a problem_

“I don’t see a problem?” Phichit hands Yuuri back his phone, watching as his friend paces the living room in a pair of low-riding sweatpants and a long-sleeved blue shirt. “Unless that’s what you want to be seduced in…? Hobo-chic is in this year, but I don’t know if _un-showered_ is a look you want to go for…”

“No! I don’t even know what I’d wear for that,” Yuuri panics. “And I have thought of everything! I have outfits on outfits for potential dates with Viktor Nikiforov, meet-ups, award shows, professional recording sessions, even the _oh hey I see we’re both walking our poodles_ scenario, but nothing for _Viktor wants to seduce you, wipe the floor with his expectations and have him beg you step on him_.”

“What is with you and people stepping on each other?” Otabek frowns.

“I don’t know. I guess enough people ask you to step on them and it becomes part of your everyday lexicon?” Yuuri offers, dropping to sit between his two friends on his sofa. “But we can deal with that later. Now, how do I politely tell Seunggie something came up and we can’t do dinner anymore?”

“He’s going to ask why,” Phichit taps his chin. “Just tell him you have a business meeting.”

Otabek nods, “With Viktor Nikiforov. I think most people understand that level of legend is hard to turn down.”

“I can’t do that! Viktor and I haven’t discussed who we can and can’t talk to about what happened—”

“What happened?” Phichit asks.

“Nothing, just, I mean, what’s happening, between us. This new friendship,” Yuuri lies. He loves his friends, but he knows Viktor is an incredibly private person and Phichit is not. Although Phichit would never hurt Yuuri, Yuuri needs to be cautious. He wouldn’t want to risk what he has with Viktor now just because he failed to have a conversation about their relationship privacy settings (if he can even call what they have a relationship). “Not to mention Seunggie is coming from Korea.”

"A friend that wants to seduce you?" Phichit pouts. "I can't believe you're not sharing the deets with me, your best friend!"

“South Korea to New York is a long flight,” Otabek agrees. “And it’s nice that he’s come all this way to spend time with you before you go on tour in a few weeks. Why not just tell Viktor you have a dinner with friends, and either invite him to come along or ask to see him privately tomorrow? – That should help you determine if he wants your friendship to be public or not.”

“Brilliant!” Phichit nods.

“I guess that sounds alright?” Yuuri worries at his bottom lip. “Okay. Someone hand me my phone. And someone else go look at my closet for stuff I can wear that's seductive.”

"I'm on it!" Phichit yells, climbing over the back of Yuuri's sofa to trip his way to Yuuri's bedroom. "I'm putting you in pleather. And thigh-highs. You're going to look like a classy bondage vixen!"

Otabek hands Yuuri his phone, sighing as he stands, "I'll go stop him."

"Thank you," Yuuri whimpers, staring at his dark phone screen. 

**TBC**


	4. Parts XI-XIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come shout at me at CuttleMeFishWrites.tumblr.com or CMFWritings on Twitter. Comments are appreciated and loved and cherished. <3

**XI**

_This is a bop_

The television in Yuuri’s kitchen flashes soft pastels, like a unicorn is on parade.

It’s not far from the truth. A much younger Viktor Nikiforov winks from Yuuri’s television screen, hair long and pulled back into a tight ponytail that he flips over his shoulder to give a perfect view of a pale white, latex turtle-neck crop top. When Yuuri had been younger and his stage fright much worse, he had tried to channel this Viktor, singing softly to himself over and over: _I’m stoked on ambition and verve, I’m gonna to get what I deserve._ It’s been over a decade, but the dance is electric and smooth, unaged, and Yuuri stops cooking to watch the way Viktor’s hands just slide down and call attention to the piston-like precision of his hips encased in a tight set of pants to match his crop top, like a vision pulled from the future. Yuuri had watched this music video countless times, obsessed with the image of Viktor with soft pink lipstick and a heart in purple painted in the middle of his lips to accentuate the perfect cupid bow of his mouth: _Your love’s my destiny._

There had been a softness and appetizing optimism to this Viktor – the Viktor that had still belonged to the Hit Factory. Yuuri much prefers the music Viktor put out in later years, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t love the earworm-like pop tunes Viktor had put out before earning his title as the King of Pop music. It makes Yuuri wonder if heartbreak changed Viktor. _Heartbreak changes everyone_ , he thinks to himself, trying to stubbornly ignore the next set of lyrics. Yuuri has always been bothered by how early the Hit Factory had sexualized Viktor’s image. It’s hard to ignore now that Yuuri’s an adult, watching the immortalized image of a teenager whose pain and suffering allowed Yuuri and his friends to have infinitely more protections and support their time around.  

“ _Oh honey_ , _you know we just can’t lose,_ ” Phichit sings loudly, shaking his butt as he slides over to keep mincing carrots. “What a bop! Doesn’t this take ya’ll back to when we were kids?”

“I didn’t really pay attention to Viktor Nikiforov until after we became a group,” Otabek shrugs, trying to steal a taste of the cheese Yuuri is stirring in a pot.

“Yuuri and I auditioned to this song for Celestino,” Phichit chirps proudly. He serves two glasses of orange juice. Otabek takes one. “Do you still have that outfit somewhere, Yuuri?”

“I think my sister confiscated that crop top. _I know your love’s my destiny_ ,” Yuuri sings shamelessly when Phichit offers the fake spoon microphone he’s been using to stir a craft of sangria. “ _They say I’m a ho, but I’m on a roll, riding so high achieving my goals._ ”

Otabek almost spits out his drink, “Are those the right lyrics?”

Phichit laughs, “Right? This whole album is a wild ride. He was, what, sixteen? Here, cheers to being a proud ho.”

“Cheers…?” Otabek doesn’t look so sure as he clinks their glasses together. “How were your parents letting you all watch this as eight-year-olds? This is suggestive in pastels.”

“I was seven when I saw this,” Phichit shrugs. “I thought the lyrics were: _My head’s in a hole_ , nothing about hos.  I kept singing that, and I don’t know that my mom understood a word I was saying so she didn’t care.”

“My mother thought it was cute because I kept messing up the lyrics to be about gardening because I _did_ sing it as _ho_ and she changed it to _hoe_ so she wouldn’t have to explain anything,” Yuuri shrugs, checking on the pasta, “All that to say that I also didn’t know what he was singing. I just liked the heart on his lips and the whole dance is a masterpiece of precision. I auditioned with this song for his _Blue_ tour when I was fourteen.”

“And what happened?” Otabek frowns.

“It was before we auditioned for Celestino. I didn’t make it.” Yuuri dumps the noodles into a sifter. “I wasn’t good enough. Stage fright got the best of me and I forgot half my dance steps, and he just kept staring at me with his piercing blue eyes, so I started improvising and…”

“Do you still remember the steps now?” Otabek asks. “I bet the adrenaline made you remember them forever.”

“I think so?” Yuuri laughs. “Should I try it?”

“Yes!” Phichit claps. “I’m going to play it again.”

“If we all learn it, we could do this song for the upcoming commemoration show,” Otabek offers. “I figured we were doing it because it’s VikNik. But I don’t now _what_ we should do. I kind of have a newfound respect for VikNik calling himself a ho, and I support us calling him a ho, too.”

“There’s a commemorative show for Viktor? Stop it. We’re _so_ not calling Viktor a ho,” Yuuri blinks. He cleans his hands on his pants as he moves over to the living room. “I didn’t know. I should check in with Celestino. We should pick a different song.”

“Or else we’d be calling ourselves hos,” Phichit laughs. He hits play.

Yuuri remembers the dance moves almost immediately, hips dropping in time with the crossing sweep of his hand. He doesn’t even register Phichit running for the door as he practices the slow dip and turn, making sure to pop out his leg. When he spins to change directions as the dance requires, he squeaks.

Viktor is staring at him with a puzzled look on his face and dress in a fine, slate gray suit—and Yuuri is in love all over again.

“Uh, hi,” Yuuri recovers quickly, trying to push his hair back and away from his face. Dinner wasn’t for another hour, so he wasn’t expecting guests yet.

“Hi,” Viktor grins, looking amused as he stares at Yuuri. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt, but I just wanted to come by to apologize in person that I won’t be able to make it to dinner after all, especially because I realize it’s super last-minute. I have a meeting that’s now come up that I can’t miss.”

The Viktor on screen swings his hips, singing, _I’m so full of ambition_ , and Yuuri feels his cheeks color bright pink at being caught being more of a fanboy than usual.

 “You’ve gotten even better at this dance than the last time I saw you perform it.”

 “T—that was a long time ago,” Yuuri clears his throat. He feels his stomach dip low. “I didn’t even think you remembered.”

“Hey, I’m not _that_ old. I only pretend to have a really bad memory to tick off Yakov,” Viktor laughs. “Having a reputation for it also helps me make sure I don’t publicly offend people so much that it makes the papers when I purposely shade them by saying their name wrong.”

“Like JJ!” Phichit gasps.

“Like Jerry Jim,” Viktor nods sagely, and Otabek likes him for the first time. “Yes.”

Yuuri chuckles, “Great. So, you _do_ remember how much of a train wreck I was at that audition and have been kind enough not to mention it. Now that I know, I’ll never be able to look you in the eye again.”

“I don’t remember you being a train wreck,” Viktor corrects. “You made your own choreography. It was beautiful.”

“That wasn’t on purpose. I had to improvise because seeing you made me so nervous, I forgot all my steps, so it makes sense you cut me at the first round,” Yuuri rolls his eyes, reaching for the remote to turn down the volume.

“Excuse me? I didn’t cut you from anything,” Viktor scoffs, crossing his arms. “I sent your tape over to the Hit Factory when I was informed Celestino Cialdini was hosting auditions for a new band. You were too talented to just be a back-up dancer, so I made an executive decision.”

“That was you!” Phichit squeals, clasping his hands together. “You’re the reason we got the email about the auditions!”

“Y—you did that?” Yuuri whispers, amazed. “I didn’t know. All these years I just assumed you didn’t like me.”

“Well, you know what they say about the word assume,” Viktor sighs, looking almost tired. “I should get going, but thanks again for the dinner invite and sorry I can’t make it. Also, the reason you keep having to pop out your leg early for the next half of steps is because you’re speeding up too much during the first half of the dance. Slow it down and you’ll get it.”

Yuuri nods, watching him leave.

**XI**

_This is a dinner_

Bong-cha woofs playfully at Vicchan once they’re both done eating. The small poodle and the husky greet each other like good friends again, as if eating might have changed them in some drastic way, before running off for the stack of dog toys hiding in Yuuri’s bedroom. This is the usual, but Seunggil always seems a little uncomfortable by Bong-cha’s familiarity with Yuuri’s apartment – and, actually, any hint of Yuuri’s bedroom.

“Cheeky,” Seunggil yells after his dog, looking almost apologetic.

“It’s fine. She knows that’s where all the dog toys are,” Yuuri smiles kindly, trying to be a good host, “More macaroni and cheese?”

“I think I’ve had too much already,” Seunggil responds politely, which is a rarity. As far as Phichit and Otabek are concerned, it is _obvious_ Seunggil is very much into Yuuri, considering that Seunggil is only ever kind to his dog and his fans. The rest of the world could burn, as far as Seunggil’s personality is concerned. It’s not very idol-like behavior, but Seunggil is famous enough that he can get away with stuff, like aging and cross-over songs and rudeness towards other idols and international pop stars—except for Yuuri.

Otabek doesn’t even bother to talk to them. He’s too busy going for another set of spring rolls. It’s the most mismatched dinner between Phichit’s spring rolls and Yuuri’s macaroni and cheese. Otabek had been the only sensible one in making a salad. But, somehow, it works. This is 3XO comfort food. This is a family dinner. Seunggil is just a guest.

“More for me, then!” Phichit grins, taking the ladle from Yuuri’s hand and dumping another spoonful onto his plate.

“Leave a little bit, okay?” Yuuri tells him. “I want to take some to Viktor later.”

“Ooh,” Phichit shimmies, ever the enabler, “Going to take him a late-night snack?”

“Viktor who?” Seunggil asks.

“Yuuri’s neighbor is Viktor Nikiforov,” Otabek answers for them before Seunggil says something potentially disparaging. Yuuri is polite about _everything_ , in total contrast to Seunggil—except about Viktor Nikiforov. Yuuri would kill for Viktor Nikiforov. “They’ve become friends recently. He was going to join us for dinner, but something came up.”

Yuuri nods, “He was really dressed up. I hope he’s having fun.”

“Maybe he went to a dinner with someone else,” Phichit offers, then realizes that Yuuri’s shoulders have tensed up. “Sometimes last-minute investors come to town. Happens all the time. Why don’t you make him a plate now?”

“That’s a good idea,” Yuuri smiles, standing up to go get some Tupperware. “It’ll show him we were at least thinking of him.”

“He probably already ate,” Seunggil shrugs, looking only slightly put-off by he information provided by the rest of the table. It’s a little hard to tell. Phichit has always thought that Seunggil suffered from Resting Bitch Face™. He’s still very cute, just sour looking, which seems to counterbalance a lot of the cheery pop and hip hop tunes Seunggil cranks out on a regular basis.

Otabek shares a look with Phichit.

“Probably,” Otabek shrugs. “I somehow don’t think he’ll be angry Yuuri kept him in mind, at least for dessert.”

“Yes, dessert,” Phichit giggles.

“Speaking of which, are we ready for dessert?”

Phichit nods, “bring on that cheesecake, Yuuri! And speaking of VikNik, are you signing up for the commemoration event marking Viktor’s legendary contributions to music, Seunggie?”

“No,” Seunggil shrugs, “I don’t really follow Viktor Nikiforov. I don’t think I could even recognize a Viktor Nikiforov song if one came on the radio right now. Seems disingenuous to pay tribute to someone I don’t care about, no matter how _old_ they might be.”

Phichit and Otabek share another look. Speaking of Viktor Nikiforov with anything else than affection at Yuuri’s dinner table would be akin to kicking Vicchan at the door. Phichit feels a migraine coming.  

Yuuri arches an eyebrow, dropping the cheesecake in the middle of the table rather violently: “What do you mean you don’t _know_ Viktor Nikiforov? I am sure if I played a song, you’d recognize it. I mean, you’re an Idol. Like, half of your choreographers nationwide copy VikNik’s dance moves.”

“I guess I’ve never been a fan,” Seunggil shrugs, voice remaining even-toned, which is just one more sign of how much he must _love_ Yuuri’s ass, because Seunggil is extremely patriotic. It’s right up there with dog-lover in the list of things that make up Seunggie’s personality, as far as Phichit is concerned anyway.

“How can you _not_ be a Viktor Nikiforov fan?” Yuuri asks, completely shocked.

Phichit laughs nervously, “What Yuuri is trying to say is that _he_ is a really big Viktor Nikiforov fan.” – Phichit almost wonders if it’d be worth it to mention that Yuuri would never even consider dating someone that didn’t passionately stan Viktor Nikiforov and love dogs.

“I just don’t follow him.”

“Not even Makkachin on Insta?” Yuuri gasps, already pulling out his phone. “Have you even seen the poodle? You have to at least love the poodle.”

“Bong-cha followed Makkachin for a time, but Makkachin never followed back so we cut association,” Seunggil says, completely unbothered by the emotional breakdown happening at the dinner table as Yuuri realizes one of his friends does _not_ worship VikNik. Granted, Otabek also didn’t worship VikNik, but he respected his musical contributions.

“Makkachin is a legend. She doesn’t follow anyone back, except for Viktor Nikiforov’s Instagram handle. _Everyone_ knows that.”

“Yuuri, maybe it’s time to change the subject,” Otabek tries carefully.  

“Maybe we should just eat this cheesecake,” Phichit nods.

“I’m sorry, I just have never heard of someone saying they don’t _know_ Viktor Nikiforov.”

“I know of him,” Seunggil corrects, looking almost cornered. “I just don’t care about him.”

 “Who doesn’t care about VikNik?”

“A lot of people,” Seunggil defends himself. “His last album tanked, didn’t it?”

“In what world is debuting at number 1 worldwide the equivalent of _tanked_?” Yuuri’s face looks red as he reaches for a bottle of wine and starts serving himself a full glass. “That album over 10 million copies. It was within the top 10 best-selling albums of its release year AND just recently was voted the best album of the last decade. Viktor doesn’t get enough credit for how hard he works.”

“Okay, I am changing the subject to something we can all bond over: Christophe Giacometti’s ass,” Phichit announces. “Real or fake? Workouts or photoshop magic? And, if workouts, what am I missing? Because I’m hitting that gym hard and it’s just not enough.”

“Photoshop? Really? I would’ve thought it was injections,” Otabek responds.

“Real,” Seunggil responds instantly. “Trust me. I know about cosmetic procedures.”

“Yuuri?” Phichit gives his friend a tiny smile.

“Real,” Yuuri sighs, finally relenting. “He made me smack it one time to check.”

**XII**

_This is a snack_

Yuuri takes a deep breath as he opens the door of his apartment and sets Vicchan down to lock his door. He holds the bag of food carefully before pawing down the hallway in bare feet. He can feel a bit of a draft in the hallway, but it feels nice against his bare legs, almost like a tickle as the ends of the button-down shirt slide against his thighs. Viktor’s text message had been clear: Yuuri was supposed to wear something he wanted to be seduced in. He couldn’t think of anything better than one of Viktor’s own collar shirts and a tantalizing black lace thong.

He tries to compose himself before he knocks on the door. Vicchan sits patiently by his side, tail wagging encouragingly. When no one responds, he considers ringing the doorbell, when he hears the shuffling of feet on the other side. The door opens and Yuuri almost forgets to breathe. Vicchan doesn’t even wait before running inside. Yuuri feels instantly mortified.

Viktor rubs at his eyes, half-asleep as he leans against the door frame in a set of small boxers.

“Yuuri?” he asks, voice rough with sleep. “Was that Vicchan?”

“Yes, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think you’d be sleeping already.”

“What are you doing here?”

Yuuri gulps as he raises the bag of food, “I brought you a snack. Since you missed dinner tonight.”

Viktor looks a little more alert as he gives Yuuri a sweeping onceover: “Is that my shirt?”

“Can I come in?”

Viktor steps aside to let Yuuri walk inside. He spots Vicchan already snuggling with Makkachin on the giant dog pillow.

“Where can I heat up the food?”

“Microwave? Make yourself at home,” Viktor offers, yawning as he disappears into his bedroom. He practically trots down the hallway. When he returns, he’s wearing a set of silk pajama bottoms. Yuuri is only slightly disappointed. “You don’t have to feed me. I had a salad already.”

“You need more nourishment than a salad, Viktor,” Yuuri admonishes softly, expertly reaching for plates and utensils like he’s mentally mapped out the apartment in the handful of times he’s been inside. Viktor rubs at his face in the dark, and Yuuri realizes that the only light in the room is the television on mute. “What are you watching?”

Viktor seems to jump at the sound of his voice to turn off the television.

“Nothing.”

“That wasn’t my last concert in Romania?” Yuuri hums, a little smile tugging at his lips when the microwave beeps to alert him that the food is ready. “That kind of looked like me on your screen, which, if it was, you should know you’re always welcome to any of my shows.”

“Not Bucharest. Paris.”

“Ah,” Yuuri walks the plate of food over to the living room. “Bucharest show was better. Sit down, get comfortable.”

Viktor sits down, looking a little concerned as he dips slowly.

Yuuri takes advantage of his confusion to sit on his lap: “Now, say _ah_.”

Viktor opens his mouth reluctantly, letting Yuuri feed him: “Oh my god. What is this?”

“Lobster macaroni and cheese,” Yuuri grins, dabbing at Viktor’s lips with a napkin. “It’s one of my best recipes.”

“You’re gifted,” Viktor breathes out, amazed. “Do I get more? Do I get to feed myself?”

“You get lots more, but you don’t get to feed yourself. I’m here to take care of you,” Yuuri chuckles, “Can I get comfortable? There’s three courses.”

He doesn’t wait for Viktor to respond as he crawls further onto Viktor’s lap and expertly stretches his legs to rest on either side of Viktor’s thighs. He keeps their chest separated only by the plate of food. Viktor gulps hard, licking his lips. This is like something out of some bizarre dream—and Viktor’s not sure that he’s awake. But he’s definitely glad he bothered to run to put on some pants. Boldly, he sets his hands on Yuuri’s sides, right at the juncture of his waist.

“Okay, here’s another spoonful.”

Viktor hums as he reaches down to take another spoonful into his mouth. Yuuri looks pleased as he holds the bowl between their chests, his knees boxing Viktor’s hips. Viktor imagines they should feel crowded, sharing one armchair—and he can’t speak for Yuuri, but, instead, he feels cozy and loved, like Yuuri’s body is a blanket of comfort after a long, restless day. He’d been disappointed when Yakov had called him to work. Seeing Yuuri now is a nice consolation.

“You can sit on my lap, you know. There’s no need to hold your weight like that. You know I can handle it. Your thighs are going to burn later.”

“I’m really glad you like my food,” Yuuri smiles, eyelashes kissing his cheeks softly. He doesn’t ignore Viktor as he sits, his ass sliding slowly over the smooth silk of Viktor’s pajama bottoms.

“I’m really grateful you keep coming over to feed me,” he whispers, letting one hand finally unwrap from Yuuri’s waist to play with the cuff of the button-up he’s wearing. His stomach flips when he sees his initials, confirming it is definitely his shirt. Yuuri had probably taken it the other night. He runs his fingers over the inscription. “Makes me wonder if you’re worried I don’t eat.”

“I’m always worried about you. Being able to take care of you now is a dream. Open up.”

“You don’t have to worry about me, Yuuri.”

“I wouldn’t worry if I knew you re coming home to me every night,” Yuuri whispers, dabbing the corner of Viktor’s lips lovingly. “Can you imagine it? Home cooked meal. Poodles waiting with our slippers. Me waiting _only_ in slippers…?”

Viktor chuckles, “are you trying to seduce me with domesticity, Mr. Katsuki?”

Yuuri stares straight into his eyes when he says, “I’m not trying to seduce you with domesticity, Viktor. I’m trying to seduce you with commitment.”

Viktor feels something heavy settle in his throat. Considering he’s been engaged three times, not once any closer to an actual wedding aisle than before, Yuuri’s words weigh like led in his chest. When Yuuri tries to lean in for a kiss, he turns away, unable to keep eye contact. Yuuri’s lips end up pressed against his cheek.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for…” Viktor shakes his head. “No one wants commitment from me.”

“Give me more credit than that,” Yuuri tells him, nose tracing down over Viktor’s cheek and towards his ear. “I’m not them. Don’t punish me for their mistakes.”

**XIII**

_This is a habit_

Yuuri smiles against Viktor’s chest, hand splayed over his chest right above his heart. Viktor can feel his own heart hammering hard as he stares up at the ceiling. This type of thing is starting to become routine. Viktor isn’t very good when it comes to routines. He’s a creature of habit—which means that if Yuuri becomes part of his routine, it’ll be all the harder on his heart when he leaves. And he will. Yuuri has a world tour ahead of him.

“Thanks for letting me stay the night,” he clears his throat.

“I’ve never kicked you out or said you couldn’t stay,” Yuuri reminds him. Viktor responds by leeting his fingers run over Yuuri’s sticky dark hair. It’s nice being in Yuuri’s bed. Viktor has slept a lone for a long time. “Probably a good thing you brought Makkachin over. The two poodles keep each other company. We should keep doing that going forward.”

“Keep doing what?” Viktor hums, barely registering Yuuri’s words.

“Having sleepovers. Taking turns.”

“Sleepovers, Yuuri? Just earlier you didn’t want me to carry you into your own bedroom because you were embarrassed I’d see all your posters.”

Yuuri ignores him, brushing a soft hand over Viktor’s fringe (and that look always scares Viktor, like he’s expecting Yuuri to say something important, something Viktor can’t actually handle), “Your forehead _is_ bigger than I thought.”

Viktor balks in distress: “You think my forehead is big? This is the second time you’ve made that comment to me. I’m starting to develop a complex.”

“Your forehead is perfect,” Yuuri chuckles, kissing Viktor’s forehead to make a point. He slides back down into the cranny of Viktor’s arms, comfortable and relaxed. Viktor loves feeling Yuuri relaxed against him. “I’m just always a little bit in disbelief that any of this is actually happening.”

_Tell me about it,_ Viktor thinks to himself. Yuuri is amazing. He’s beautiful and young, and so vibrant and talented that Viktor’s chest hurts just thinking about how attached he’s become.

“What’s that taped over your door?” Viktor blinks.

“Oh, that’s—that’s nothing.”

“Is that a vision board?” Viktor grins. “Now I have to go take a look.”

“No!” Yuuri pouts, pushing him back down. “You’re not allowed to leave this bed until morning. We made a deal.”

“You said we could make an exception for the bathroom,” Viktor reminds him. “What if I need to use the bathroom and on the way I look at the vision board with my face on it?”

“Stay. I’ll bring it over. But you’re not allowed to make fun of me for it.”   

Viktor nods, promising silently as he sits up and watches Yuuri crawl over him to the other side of the bed. Yuuri runs over to the door. He returns with the vision board in hand, holding it tight to his chest. Viktor waits patiently for Yuuri to slide back under the covers before he gives Yuuri a questioning look.

“I’ve been making vision boards since I was in college,” Yuuri shrugs, setting the vision board down over their laps. “I just finished this one recently. My psychic guru was concerned I wasn’t grouping things in a logical order and that was having an impact on the efficacy of my vision boards.”

“And was she right?” Viktor smiles, taking the board into his hands.

Yuuri nods, “How do you think _this_ is happening?”

“Is this the romance section?” Viktor grins, “Aww, Yuuri, I’m so flattered.”

“You used to be in the business section.”

“Well, that explains a lot, doesn’t it?” Viktor laughs.

Yuuri pouts, flushing red: “You said you wouldn’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not. I think it’s amazing how stubborn and strong-willed you are,” Viktor shrugs. “ _This_ isn’t happening because you finally put me in the right corner of your mood board, you know. _This_ is happening because of you – because you’re amazing and beautiful in every way that counts. If anyone can’t believe this is happening, it’s me. I’m the _has-been_ in bed with People’s Most Beautiful Person of 2018.”

Yuuri pinches his arm.

“What was that for?” Viktor flinches.

“Don’t ever insult yourself in front of me. You’re amazing, Viktor. If anyone is in denial, it’s me.”

Viktor sets the mood board down, eyes turning soft as they settle on Yuuri’s face.

“Well, since you brought it up: What _is_ happening here, Yuuri?”

Yuuri shrugs, “I know what is happening for me. I don’t want to label something for you, if you haven't made sense of it for yourself.”

“Even if we label it, you realize you’re leaving soon, right?”

“I’m going on tour, not dying, Viktor. You could visit me. I could visit you. You could even come with me. If you wanted. I'd take care of you.”

Viktor gulps hard, “Yuuri, I don’t think that’s possible without causing a scene. I can barely take my dog for a proper walk down the block, much less go into an airport without getting mobbed.”

“What if I could prove to you that you could stay completely incognito?”

Viktor shakes his head, “I’ve tried that. My disguises don’t work, remember?”

“That’s because your disguises suck,” Yuuri winks. “But who better than someone that's never been able to keep his eyes off you to disguise you from the rest of the world?”

**TBC**


	5. Part XIV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we have the shortest chapter yet because this has to be dropped before we get to the boys.

**XIV**

_This is a blog_

**Watch For It: VikNik and the Hit Factory are battling over more than just royalties and contracts. They’re battling over the future of music. Yuuri Katsuki is just the newest casualty.**

_Famous music producer and DJ Leo de la Iglesia writes an interesting insider view of the Viktor Nikiforov case and the sudden and quite shockingly precarious position of the Yuuri Katsuki estate as a court date fast approaches to determine whether Viktor Nikiforov still owes the Hit Factory any music for a contract breached over 20 years ago._

By Leo de la Iglesia

It’s the commemorative (and annoying) time of the year when the Hit Factory tries to remind the world that it didn’t just bless us with Yuuri Katsuki’s solo career, but that it was also the starting spot for King of Pop Viktor Nikiforov—never mind that VikNik didn’t even start making his best music (or earn his royal title) until after establishing his own label under the Yakov Feltsman Group. I want everyone to keep that statement in mind. Not the part about VikNik making good music only _after_ leaving the Hit Factory, but the fact that the Hit Factory _loves_ to pretend it owns its stars and why the dangerous precedent set with Viktor Nikiforov may now impact the career of another beloved music icon. At the end, the loser(s) will not be the Hit Factory. It will be music and artists, and by default fans.

But let me backtrack. Almost everyone has heard of the ongoing feud between VikNik and the Hit Factory. It is now older than some children have been alive. It is older than some industry careers (and, again, keep this in mind). But just in case you’ve been living under a rock and have zero idea of what I’m talking about, here’s a quick recap: Viktor Nikiforov has been on a standoff with the Hit Factory over two albums the Hit Factory claims it is owed in a contract breached by Viktor Nikiforov upon leaving the Hit Factory back when he was sixteen years old. Yes, VikNik has been fighting with the Hit Factory now for over half his life span and two-thirds of his career.

For years, Viktor Nikiforov has claimed the Hit Factory breached the star’s exclusivity contract first after it failed to protect Viktor’s music and allowed producers to give his songs to Engagement #1, which CEO Celestino Cialdini claimed (in a cringe-worthy press-release) was perfectly acceptable within the parameters of VikNik’s original (and, having read the released version, exploitative) contract, which precluded the star from owning any songs in his catalogue (well, any created under the auspices of the Hit Factory). In case you need even more of a music history lesson, you may need to take a quick moment to click here, and read this incredible article written by Sara Crispino on integrity and award shows—and why, she thinks, Engagement #1's string of industry awards for that album were never officially stripped.

The thing is that, despite being a living legend, Viktor Nikiforov is one of the few artists who cannot claim to own all of his discography, despite owning the discography of others. Thankully, ownership over VikNik’s music and catalogue under the Hit Factory was recently contested in court, and the decision is important to music makers everywhere. VikNik should hopefully be getting the rights back to his full catalogue later next year (and this can only help set a precedent for Yuuri Katsuki, but, again, more on that later). (Not without some damage, though: The Hit Factory has made sure to use popular songs like “I’m on a Roll” and “All Eyes on Me” in a myriad of advertisements so off-brand that Yakov Feltsman has threatened for almost a decade to publicly blacklist any brands that make deals with the Hit Factory to use samples of VikNik’s early music.) All that to say, Viktor Nikiforov is both an aspiration and a cautionary tale for those of us in the industry—and it would be amiss not to mention that the latter’s fodder for vicious backlash against the Hit Factory likely helped shape Yuuri Katsuki’s solo contract (but, again, more on YuuriK later).

However, the question over whether Viktor Nikiforov owes the Hit Factory one or two more albums – or any at all – remains the key question yet to be decided by an actual civil court (not just the court of the people).

So, that gives ample opportunity for, well, _opportunism_. Whenever rumors spike that VikNik might be back in the studio, the Hit Factory comes prowling, as it did during the release of Kingdom (more on that later, too). In fact, VikNik (likely thanks to his lawyers) has surprisingly managed to get out unscathed from the Hit Factory’s line of fire for years, allowing us to bear witness to some of the most incredible (and sometimes overproduced) musical productions of all time. Yet, last year (only after rumors spiked that VikNik might be considering retirement) the Hit Factory finally came swinging, hard, managing to successfully get an injunction against any official releases from VikNik until a judge decides later this year if the Hit Factory deserves to extort one last album from him. Let me be clear, extort is perhaps too kind a word for the greedy and selfish actions of the Hit Factory. VikNik’s options are limited now that rumors abound that he is considering retirement. His last album Kingdom received industry-wide critical acclaim and even reached the number one spot in worldwide charts, but fizzled from fame quickly with a sound that was catalogued by music critics as (paradoxically) “too dated” and yet “too new” to be palatable to audiences now used to and preferring the sound of synthesizers. Truth is that VikNik tried to do right by the Hit Factory, offering them a cut of Kingdom to resolve the issue once and for all (told you there’d be more). Once again, the Hit Factory showed its true colors and made the process so difficult that Kingdom suffered from poor publicity as budgetary constraints grew at the rate of sideline lawyer fees. So, VikNik's options are limited. He can potentially dilute his catalogue with a subpar release or make the Hit Factory a ton of money with very little investment, both lose-lose scenarios.

And that leads us back to Yuuri Katsuk, the Hit Factory’s biggest cash cow and Viktor Nikiforov’s most vocal fan. (I’m sure Yuuri would cringe knowing his revenues have been used to try to ruin VikNik’s career for years.) YuuriK (as he is affectionally called by his friends and fans) has been sampling Viktor Nikiforov indiscriminately for years, both the Hit Factory and Legend Entertainment/Stammi Vicino Productions catalogues. But, again, for those of you living under a rock, I realize that doesn’t explain much, like why this whole affair takes us back to Yuuri Katsuki, who would’ve only been eight-years old at the time VikNik was leaving the Hit Factory.

Unfortunately for Yuuri, he is now right at the center of this case because VikNik—always quiet and reserved—dropped some major receipts that show the Hit Factory didn’t rip off his music to give them to another artist once, but did it TWICE, and because of it, on the line, if the Hit Factory decides to go to court again, would be YuuriK’s catalogue. In a surprising twist of events, VikNik submitted for the court’s consideration literally _hundreds_ of copies of micro-recordings, prep work, lyric work, and videos that would show the Hit Factory has had in their hands this entire time enough material to account for the last album they’ve clamored for so viciously—and which they were supposed to release slowly as additional material in greatest hits compilations and, instead, simply gave to YuuriK for his debut album!

YuuriK fans are naturally upset and attacking VikNik and his fans over this sudden decision to drop this type of major tea just before the launch of the Yuuri Katsuki Experience: World Tour. But, honestly, there’s never a good time for a scandal, especially to save your own career, and the Hit Factory should’ve thought of this before going for the jugular of one of the industry’s most cunning entertainers. If anything, we have to praise Viktor for having kept his composure for so long. He easily could’ve come out with this information when it first happened. Instead, he kept this quiet and gave the Hit Factory many opportunities to bow out gracefully (which they probably used only to delay and harass a literal living legend). Say what you will about VikNik (and much has been said about his hermetic tendencies and eccentricities), but he has not been vicious towards Yuuri Katsuki, ever, and he's definitely not trying to punish him now. He's just hitting the Hit Factory where it hurts: Its pocketbook. Sadly, its largest source of revenue just happens to be Yuuri Katsuki. (But don't worry, this shouldn't delay YuuriK's world tour. Why? Because this court case shows that YuuriK also doesn't really own the rights to his own music. Shocker! I guess the Hit Factory's contracts haven't evolved much after all.) Now, whether YuuriK _knew_ of this deception or not is not clear. I venture to guess, knowing Yuuri personally, that he is just a victim of the machinery that is his record label. But the evidence is damning and raises a lot of questions, especially as VikNik hasn’t just threatened to countersue for the portion of YuuriK’s catalogue that he is owed, but for all of it.

So, if you have _not_ been living under a rock and feel you have a lot of opinions on whether VikNik is playing fair or not, remember who started this—and thank whoever stepped up to finish it. And, when it is all over, don’t mourn for either YuuriK or VikNik (who will both surely be okay and overcome), but for the state of music.


	6. Parts XV-XVIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris sighs, patting Viktor’s shoulder before making his way to the elevator: “Go to him. He obviously wants your face on his ass. I wouldn’t decline, if I were you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twitter: @CMFWritings (come find me for random tweets about the Pop Star boys)  
> Tumblr: CuttleMeFishWrites (come find me for random stuff and feel free to send all the asks - i take requests)

**XV**

_This is a disguise_

 “I fail to see how a beany and a different set of sunglasses are supposed to make me look like anything less than just not a refined and put-together version of myself,” Viktor gripes, staring down at the faded jeans and the simple windbreaker. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Yuuri. He just doesn’t want to test Yakov’s threat of sending him to live in New Jersey.

“Just trust me. No one is going to recognize you,” Yuuri grins, fixing the jacket and letting his hands linger as they smooth over the thin white V-neck shirt stretched over Viktor’s chest.

Viktor can’t deny he loves the attention.

“You’re really enjoying yourself, aren’t you?” Viktor asks, taking Yuuri’s hands into his own to bring his knuckles up for a kiss.

“Any time my hands are on you is a fun time, wouldn’t you agree?” Yuuri watches him, feeling the gloss of Viktor’s lips as they glide over his knuckles.

“I still don’t see how this is supposed to work. We’re literally just standing in the middle of the sidewalk and—was that a flash?”

Yuuri clasps his hands together, shouting, “showtime!” – He proceeds to push Viktor against the nearest wall and leans in to kiss him.

Viktor doesn’t quite understand how _this_ is supposed to make things any better, but there’s worst ways (in his mind) of going about letting the world know he’s in _whatever_ -ship with a gorgeous pop star. Het lets his hands fall to Yuuri’s hips, slowly gliding down to rest on his ass. Yuuri gasps into his lips, something soft and wonderful that makes Viktor’s entire chest burst with something akin to love.

(He’s in serious denial that it would be love, although it’s pretty damn close to it—and Yuuri is great with his mouth.)

When the flashes stop, Yuuri steps back to press their foreheads together: “That was much nicer than a mustache, wasn’t it?”

“So, was _that_ supposed to keep them from recognizing me? The fact that _you_ were covering my face?” Viktor chuckles, lips a little swollen.

“Don’t you worry about that,” Yuuri beams, pulling him along down the sidewalk. “I’ve got it all under control. In a few minutes, you’ll—oh, that was fast.”

Yuuri pulls out his cellphone from his pocket and grins, looking so delighted it makes Viktor’s chest ache that he wasn’t the one to _delight_ Yuuri like whatever he’s reading on his phone. He doesn’t have to wait long to find out. Yuuri shows him the phone screen smugly: “Yuuri Katsuki Spotted Getting Chummy with Supermodel Albrikt.”

Viktor blinks, trying to hide his heartbreak, “S—since when are you dating a supermodel?”

Of course, it makes sense. Yuuri is young and gorgeous, and rich. Of course, he’d be dating a supermodel. Why would he ever want some ancient pop legend without a current top hit in the charts? He’s a little clumsy in taking the phone, and Yuuri laughs.

“I’m not dating some supermodel, silly. I’m dating you. The world just _thinks_ you’re a supermodel because I planned it that way. Albrikt is the model I often use in my music videos. He does a pretty good impression of you from afar sometimes.”

“B—but won’t Albrikt set the record straight?” Viktor tries to not betray with his voice the way his heart skips at Yuuri’s words. Dating. It sounds nice. And now that they’re actually outside, they could go on an actual date. They could hold hands in a coffee shop. Or maybe not. That might be a little too normal for Yuuri to pull off. But they could go to some expensive shops and spend a lot of money—and hold hands while doing it, and maybe kiss in the fitting room.

“He owes me a little favor and was more than happy to cruise in Armani through California on my dime,” Yuuri shrugs. “And since you have a trip coming up to California, it won’t be odd once they get more pictures of you there. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I wanted to surprise you.”

“You definitely did, Yuuri,” Viktor smiles, soft and unashamed that he might be looking a little smitten.   

**XVI**

_This is a collection_

Mila loves watching _The Take_ while she preps Viktor’s meals, which, she notes with a little bitterness, he hasn’t been eating. She’s been debating whether to talk to Yakov that VikNik is skipping meals, but she doesn’t want to get her boss in trouble, and she realizes she didn’t notice until today because she’s been preoccupied with Sara and that would get _her_ in trouble, too. _The Take_ is the most-watched show in afternoon television with a panel of women in entertainment commenting on the latest _everything_. She’s obsessed. And today’s topic of conversation just happens to be her boss, sort of. It’s more like the topic is Yuuri Katsuki’s obsession with her boss.

She starts on a quiche. VikNik had left some very specific instructions as to what he wanted prepped. It sounds more like date food than anything, and she wonders if maybe VikNik’s not eating his food because he’s lovesick or dating.

“Okay, so, next topic: Yuuri Katsuki posted a part two to his vlog on his VikNik collection. Did anyone else watch it? I have to say I’m obsessed with Yuuri Katsuki,” Tricia, one of the presenters, explains to audienc claps. “ _Eros_ has been playing on loop all day on my phone. I already got my tickets to the Yuuri Katsuki Experience. So, ya’ll know when I logged onto YouTube and saw Yuuri’s face right up there on trending videos, I had to watch it.”

“Oh my god, me too!” Ashley, a petite bobbed blonde, laughs. “Like, I felt I was going through withdrawal. It’s been a good month since I had my Yuuri fix. I mean, I’m all in for him taking a break—”

Helen, the stylist with the purple hair, interrupts her, “Well, he’s not. He’s prepping for his world tour, so he’s not on a break.”

“Right, that’s what I’m saying. I think that Yuuri Katsuki is the hardest working man in show business. He’s everywhere. I think my kid picked up a cereal box the other day and there was his face. He’s on tv with the advertisements for the tour, for a perfume ad, for everything. But I’m used to seeing him do so much that anything less gives me withdrawal.”

“You got to interview him recently, right, Helen?” Tina asks, leaning in to reach for her tea cup.

“I did!” she dishes, just a little breathless. “I’m kind of a little in love with Yuuri Katsuki. I got to interview him and he is such a sweetheart, so sweet and gracious and so soft-spoken, really completely different from the performer we see on TV. I think that’s why his vlogs are so funny because he looks like he’s having a really good time. 3XO was in this video. It was so good.”

“He has so much stuff.  I was jealous,” Astoria, the older of the presenters and a personality in the music industry, says as the audience laughs. “I’m not kidding. Look, I love me some Yuuri Katsui, but Viktor Nikiforov is a legend. Like, Vikor Nikiforov was dancing circles all over the world years before Yuuri Katsuki ever had a hit single. I _love_ my VikNik. I have all the albums. I have the posters stuffed somewhere. Like, my husband makes fun of me because I have random stuff all over the place. I have a Makkachin plushie.”

“They make plushies of the dog?” Tina gasps.

“Girl, Makka has an entire line of merch. It’s amazing,” Astoria waves her off.  “I remember in the first video, he filmed it in Detroit, and that house has a shrine. I’ve seen the shrine. It’s the stuff of a VikNik stan’s dream. That said, I don’t know how I feel about the life-size cardboard cutouts. I don’t know if it’s cute or if it’s creepy.”

“What was it he said? It was so that he always had a VikNik to welcome him home,” Tina reads from her cards. “Right, this video he actually showed them, right? – In case folks don’t know, Yuuri’s childhood home is a museum now. Like, a Yuuri museum. And his childhood bedroom has some of his VikNik collection on loan because fans want to see his childhood bedroom, and it’s wild. Like, it’s Viktor Nikiforov all over, with maybe a couple of Sara posters?”

“That’s the video with the mug collection, right?” Helen pipes in.

Tricia nods, “Girl, the mugs cracked me up. This video was stuff that is a lot more expensive. So, the first video was the little things everyone can own. Mugs. Albums. Posters. Even the cardboard cutouts. Like, that makes sense to me. _This_ video was about his collection of—I need to read this because it’s interesting: His collection of _designer_ Viktor Nikiforov pieces. So, apparently, Yuuri collects stuff that has Viktor’s face on it and he stepped it up through the years as his income increased and he owns some, like, legit designer pieces. Take a look at a short clip.”

_First couple of lines of Viktor Nikiforov’s Baby Come On Over (Album Version) plays along with a fast intro montage showing Yuuri and Yuuko laughing as they try on Viktor Nikiforov-inspired wigs. The montage ends to show Yuuri Katsuki in his living room with his dog Vicchan napping on the sofa._

_“Hey guys! It’s Yuuri, and I’m here with Yuuko, who is helping me film today – that’s her hand. Some of you have been asking me to do more videos showing my VikNik collection, and since today is my break day, I figured I would film a little something. The first one was posted a couple of years ago when I was in Detroit, and I showed you all what I had in my house and at the museum, but I had a lot of pieces in transit to my New York apartment, too, so we thought it’d be fun to show you what’s in my closet. And Yuuko is laughing because I collect, embarrassingly enough, things with Viktor’s face on it, like prints and t-shirts and sweatshirts, and you’ve seen a lot of that already, but I do own some really expensive things, too. So, I’m going to show you and pray the Internet doesn’t turn me into a meme!”_

_Yuuri claps his hands as he stands from his sofa. Vicchan barks, jumping off the sofa to follow him. Viktor Nikiforov’s Time to Party (Album Version) plays as the editing speeds up to show Yuuri twirling in his apartment before leading the camera to his shrine room._

_“I have four bedrooms in this apartment. One is my room, one’s a guest room, one’s a studio and dance thing, and the last one is just my office and collection room. And it does have this keypad because I have it protected. You’ll see why in a second.”_

_“I’m going to turn the camera away, okay?”_

_“Yeah, it’s fast. Okay, we’re in. This is my collection of colognes and perfumes VikNik has released through the years. I like to buy two of each. Some of these are no longer on the market, so that means I can have one to wear and one for show. This one is my favorite because it’s shaped like Makkachin and I love it because it’s all covered in these Swarovski crystals and it’s a limited edition because who needs a Swarovski Makkachin? –Exactly. Just me. Or whoever else has it. But it’s actually a children’s cologne and it smells so sweet and so lovely. I could only get my hands on one, so I’ve only sprayed it once.”_

_“I’m zooming on the mannequin.”_

_“Oh thanks! This is a designer piece. It’s a two-piece set, crop top and pants. It’s very tight and very comfortable. I don’t think this was supposed to be worn by a man? But fuck gendered clothing. Sorry. We’ll bleep that out. Maybe. I don’t know. It’s my favorite thing. It has Viktor’s face all over it.”_

“If you haven’t seen the video, go watch it. It’s two glorious hours of Yuuri Katsuki smiling and laughing and just showing off these ridiculously expensive, one of a kind items that I didn’t even know existed? Like, this is like watching a music or fashion historian focus on one very specific person, and it’s amazing. Some of the pieces are beautiful!” Astoria gushes.

“Do we have a picture of – yes, that, that’s a tissue box and, if you can see, the shape is a poodle and it is covered in rhinestones. It’s another piece from some collaboration Viktor Nikiforov did with some Japanese brand. It’s so extra and adorable,” Helen laughs. “And now we’re showing people this sweater. It’s just a basic pastel sweater but it was in a music video and got auctioned and Yuuri paid almost $10,000 for it.”

“It’s a great video. I really loved that he’s got all this stuff all over this room, but his own gold discs and awards are all in some corner,” Tricia points out. “We can show one more clip? Okay one more clip.”

_Yuuri is sitting on the floor of his office and shrine room with Phichit holding a bra._

_“Okay, look, I can explain.”_

_“Please do tell everyone about how you also own stuff you will never use just because Viktor Nikiforov did some collab and put his name on it.”_

_“It’s very pretty, though. And look, it has his signature stitched on this corner here.”_

_“It’s lingerie,” Phichit laughs. "His signature is on a boob cup."_

_“Just because I’m not going to use it doesn’t mean it’s not worth buying. It was a collectible. Okay, so, like seven years ago, Sara Crispino’s brand launched this special edition collection with Viktor, and I was touring so I didn’t get to pre-order the suit—”_

_“So, he went and ordered the lingerie.”_

_“I ordered the lingerie, and it’s beautiful. This one is called Agape and this one is Eros.”_

_“Why do you think Viktor Nikiforov likes to design things with mesh and rhinestones?” Phichit laughs. “Like, half this room is crystals.”_

_“The watch is sterling silver.”_

_“And diamonds,” Phichit arches an eyebrow._

_“And diamonds,” Yuuri nods, looking only a little ashamed._

_“He doesn’t even wear it because it’s a collectible and he's scared it'll get scratched up,” Phichit laughs. “Oh Yuuri. I love you.”_

“We’ve put up a link to the full video over at our website, so go take a look and then tell us what you think over at [www.thetake.com](http://www.thetake.com),” Astoria smiles, reaching for her coffee mug as they cut to a commercial break.

Mila reaches for her phone then, typing quickly:

**Mila**

You didn’t tell me you designed lingerie.

**Sara**

I don’t.

Oh, were you watching The Take? LOL That was one time! And I didn’t even design it

VikNik did because he’s extra like that

**Mila**

You still have any left?

**Sara**

Asking for yourself or for a friend?

**Mila**

Asking for a friend

I mean, I love wearing lingerie, but I feel like you’ll appreciate it even more

**Sara**

Well, if that’s the situation, I’ll see what I can do

**XVII**

_This is a concern_

**Yuuri**

There’s a woman outside of Viktor’s apartment

**Phichit**

Is she cute?

**Yuuri**

Yes

He just hugged her, looks like he just showered so he probably smells extra good

He’s supposed to be leaving this evening and he said he didn’t have time to eat together because he was busy

Now this chick’s here

**Phichit**

Well go snoop and report back son!

**Yuuri**

She’s waiting for the elevator

My time is now

**Phichit**

OMG what are you going to do? Pounce on her?

Yuuri? OMG Yuuri answer me!

Do I need to have a lawyer on speed dial?

YUURI

YUUUUUUUUUUUURI

YUURI KATSUKI ANSWER THIS PHONE RIGHT NOW

YUURI QUICK VIKTOR NIKIFOROV HAS RELEASED NUDES

**Yuuri**

Okay so

**Phichit**

Omg that worked? I summoned you!

**Yuuri**

No. I was busy having a conversation by the elevator like a normal human, not creeping online for VikNik nudes

**Phichit**

So he claims. Bet you’d find them and get them framed

I’m going to look at your search history later

**Yuuri**

Get this

She’s from an adoption service agency

**Phichit**

Son say what?

VikNik is going to be a dad? Awwwwwww

OMG VikNik is going to be a dad? Or is this, like, a dog adoption agency?

**Yuuri**

Human baby

He didn’t say anything to me about it

**Phichit**

You sound pouty. Stop pouting. It’ll give you wrinkles

Why would he? I mean, you’re just friends, right?

**Yuuri**

Right

Totally

**Phichit**

Yuuuuuuuuuuri

Are you gonna drop the tea already?

**Yuuri**

There’s no tea to drop

Other than VikNik is interested in adopting

**Phichit**

Yeah, that’s SOME tea

He should get a different agency if they’re not respecting his privacy, tho

**Yuuri**

She dropped her papers

That’s how I read and then I played it cool by saying I was thinking of adopting myself

Got her card

**Phichit**

Sneaky

If we’re having a little 3XO baby can we name it Hamish? It sounds like hamster

**Yuuri**

I’m not naming my baby Hamish

**Phichit**

Oooh your baby?

You going to offer your services as sperm donor?

**Yuuri**

No

I was just saying

**Phichit**

You can’t collect a baby, Yuuri

Even if it’s cute and looks just like Viktor Nikiforov

**Yuuri**

Shut up

That does sound adorable

**XVIII**

_This is a fashion statement_

Yuuri feels silly. And stressed.

It’s only been a day since he last saw Viktor, but he already misses him desperately—like the type of desperation that has him currently decked out in one of the most iconic pieces of both his closet and his VikNik collection. For the last 24 hours, he’s been checking his phone constantly, hoping Viktor would text him so he could casually drop his _accidental_ run-in with the woman from the adoption agency. It’s not that Yuuri is opposed to being a father. All the contrary, if Viktor’s considering babies, he wants in.

Vicchan stretches against Yuuri’s leg, waiting anxiously for his owner to open the door to their apartment. Of course, Yuuri has lost the keys somewhere in his workout bag because he’s an emotional mess who cannot handle going back to sleeping alone after having the _perfection_ that is the love of his life right next to him in bed, at dinner, on the sofa.

“I’m sorry, Vicchan. I’ll get us inside soon,” he sighs.  

Technically, the workout suit is iconic because 1) Yuuri owns it, and 2) it’s a one of a kind designer collectible two-piece set that comes with specially-designed fabric with the face of Viktor Nikiforov through the years printed all over it. Yuuri has practically memorized all the Viktors by now (and has favorites), although this is only the second or third-time he’s publicly worn the two-piece set of tights and matching crop top, mainly because he’s always a little self-conscious about the heart cutout right at the center of his chest. Viktor makes for a pretty print, not the least because his hair and his eyes make for a beautiful, light contrast to deep blues and pinks. Yuuri looks really good in blue.

Vicchan leaves him to keep searching his bag to sniff at the elevator. His little tail wags excitedly as he sits to wait patiently for the elevators door to open. When Yuuri hears a familiar voice, he freezes in panic: “Aw, hi Vicchan. What are you doing out here, huh?”

“Did you get another dog?” Christophe Giacometti asks as he steps out of the elevator with Viktor.

“No, this is Yuuri’s puppy. He’s very cute, isn’t he?” Viktor gushes, leaning down to scratch behind Vicchan’s ears. The traitor that is his dog simply drops on his back to display his belly. “Aww, hi buddy, yes, all the belly scratches for you!”

“Yuuri or the dog?”

“The dog, Chris,” Viktor says, smile strained as he keeps talking in a sugary dollop tone.

Yuuri drops his bag then, hands shaky as he dips down to grab it.

“Speaking of Yuuri,” Chris whispers, blinking as if he can’t make sense of the outfit Yuuri is wearing—and Yuuri can’t even blame him. It’s one thing to be a Viktor fanboy in public. It’s another to be a Viktor fanboy wearing Viktor all over his body _in front_ of Viktor Nikiforov. “Hi Yuuri,” Chris purrs, waving at him.

“Yuuri?” Viktor stands and Vicchan runs over to Yuuri to lick his legs. “Is that my face on your ass?”

Yuuri doesn’t even register his next movements as he dumps everything in his bag until he can finally spot his keys on the floor. Viktor considers going over to help, but Chris settles a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head. And for that, Yuuri is grateful—because all he wants is for the ground to swallow him. He opens the door to his apartment and kicks everything inside, waiting only for Vicchan to bark his way inside before he closes the door.

“Was that my face on his thighs—”

“—yes. And on his chest and legs and everywhere that wasn’t his abs. You know, I’d seen pictures of that two-piece suit before and never thought it could look so much better in person. He’s got a _body_ , if you know what I mean, darling.”

“Yuuri? Oh, well, yeah,” Viktor smiles to himself, knowing he’s looking smitten again. “Yuuri’s gorgeous.”

“And fragile,” Chris reminds him. “Smooth, VikNik. You couldn’t lead with ‘you look beautiful,’ like a normal person? You had to point out your face was on his derriere?”

“Oh fuck! He has anxiety!” Viktor looks panicked as he presses his hands to his lips. “And I just said something that would’ve embarrassed him. He’s probably having an anxiety attack right now. Fuck, why am I such a mess, Chris?”

“I don’t know, my friend,” Chris shakes his head in that way that confirms Viktor is a veritable mess.

“What do I do now?”

Chris sighs, patting Viktor’s shoulder before making his way to the elevator: “Go to him. He obviously wants your face on his ass. I wouldn’t decline, if I were you.”

 **TBC**  


End file.
